


Eden Lost

by vampirepunks



Series: Blood & Water [1]
Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bisexual MShep, Canon Divergence on Steroids, Canon Rewrite, Canon is but a suggestion, Character Study, Companionable Snark, Constructive Criticism Welcome, Demisexual FemShep, Earthborn Shepard, Eventual Smut, Everybody Lives, Except Saren :(, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Interspecies Relationship(s), Loveable Idiot John Shepard, M/M, Mass Effect 1, Mentor/Protégé, Nihlus Kryik Lives, Not Beta Read, POV Multiple, Romance, Shepard (Mass Effect) has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Shepard Twins (Mass Effect), Skippable Smut, Slow Burn, Trigger warnings in starting notes as needed, Two Shepards, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:55:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 55,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24758920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vampirepunks/pseuds/vampirepunks
Summary: It always starts with a bet.The Shepard twins grew up roaming Earth’s forgotten streets. They kept each other alive and made a habit of driving one another forward with bets. They started simply enough, but the older they got, the higher the stakes rose. To outsiders, it was hostile, grim, and competitive. To them, it was a game that gave them an edge in life. At 18, they found themselves enlisted in the Alliance military. Over ten years later, they’re assigned together on a shakedown run to Eden Prime. It’s time for their biggest wager yet: the title of first human Spectre. But when we make plans, our gods laugh.A tale of two Shepards taking on the events of Mass Effect 1. The galaxy will never be the same.
Relationships: Kaidan Alenko/Male Shepard, Nihlus Kryik/Female Shepard
Series: Blood & Water [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1791592
Comments: 140
Kudos: 118





	1. The Departure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The adventure begins! Jane steps aboard the Normandy for the first time, not expecting a familiar face in the CIC.

Arcturus Station is proving to be a royal pain in the ass. For the third time, the Alliance database has corrupted her profile. She’s had to verify her pre-service history, service record, and combat specs. Now it’s telling her to report for scans to confirm her identity.

“Nothing is ever simple, is it?” she grumbles to the terminal, finally heading for the identity checkpoint to get scanned. If any of the pencil-pushers give her a hard time after that lengthy ordeal, they’re liable to clock out early for a med-evac.

The checkpoint pings when she approaches, having registered her guns and amp. An officer walks over, disables the alert, and chuckles.

“That scowl could curdle milk. The database terminal giving you a hard time?” he asks, opening his omni-tool.

She nods and crosses her arms.

“We’ve had pissed-off soldiers coming in all day over it. Clearance issues aren’t uncommon around here,” he explains. “Just a quick bio-scan and I’ll get you verified for boarding.”

“Thanks,” Jane huffs.

He waves the tool and his expression shifts to perplexion. “That can’t be right…”

“What now?” she groans.

“It’s just... It says you’re Commander Shepard? We already had a Commander Shepard come through today, and you’re no spitting image. Might explain why the computer flagged you.”

The revelation sends a rush of excitement through her. Her fingers go cold. John is somewhere on the station.

“What ship was he assigned to?” she says, a bit too hastily.

“That information is classified, ma’am,” he says sternly. “Now... Any idea why it has you ID’ed as Commander Shepard?”

She glares. “It’s pretty damned simple. I’m Commander _Jane_ Shepard, he’s my brother. Now, what ship did he report to?”

“Still classified, I’m sorry,” he says with a shrug. His body language is apologetic, but his voice is rigid.

“Fine,” she growls. She’ll just have to call John later. She has places to be. She leans toward the clerk threateningly. “Listen, pal, I’m assigned to the SSV Normandy. Unless you intend to explain to Captain Anderson why I’m late, can we move this along?”

He doesn’t flinch, just gives her a wary glance. He taps at his omni-tool for a long moment and says, “You’re cleared to board at Dock 173. Safe travels, Commander.”

 _Fucking finally._ She presses past him, making for the docks briskly. After this mission, she’s definitely calling John to yell at him for not keeping in touch.

At first sight, the Normandy takes the breath out of her. With all she’s heard about its development and capabilities, it’s shockingly small and sleek. There’s no way the cutting-edge drive core Anderson hyped up could fit in such a petite ship. They certainly hadn’t cut corners on style, either. It’s a stunning model of what two species can accomplish when they join forces, she muses. If it really is as capable as the debrief suggested, they should have started working with the turians a long time ago.

The ship’s decontamination protocol tingles familiarly on her skin. It’s the kind of thing that surprises you the first few times around but quickly becomes routine. She makes her way through the ship, beelining for the CIC to report for duty. She halts midstep when her eyes meet her brother’s. A bright grin spreads across his face. His blue eyes shine bright in the light of the command interface. Military form and protocol go out the window as she throws her arms around him.

“John! What are you doing here?” she exclaims, having to edge up on her tiptoes to tuck her chin atop his shoulder.

“Hey there, short stuff,” he says, squeezing her close. She takes a step back as Anderson clears his throat.

She stiffens her posture and salutes. “Apologies, sir.”

“At ease, soldier,” he says gently. “I should have told you that you two would be working together here.”

“It’s certainly a surprise,” John remarks. “With all due respect, sir.”

“Permission to speak freely, Captain?” Jane asks.

“Granted. Speak your mind, Commander,” Anderson says. There’s a gleam in his eye that she can’t quite read.

She does her best to regain her composure, but John’s presence has pulled the rug from under her feet. “Why are we both here? It’s a little...odd, to have two Commanders aboard, isn’t it?”

“It certainly is. But rest assured, it was a strategic decision from the top. I’ll explain in debrief. For now, settle in for takeoff.” He gives a knowing smile, and adds, “Feel free to catch up.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” she chimes in unison with her brother.

Anderson takes his place at the command station, standing steady and dignified. Jane eyes around the Normandy, still impressed by the ergonomics. It really is a beautiful ship. She leads her brother down to the mess hall. The entire ship feels clean and sleek, truly a marvel of design.

Out of sight of superior officers, she lands a smack to the back of John’s head.

“Oww. What was that for?”

“You haven’t called, and you just show up under my Captain’s command out of nowhere?”

He shrugs, rubbing the back of his head. “Hackett keeps me busy,” he defends. “Don’t think I didn’t miss you.”

“Damn right you did,” she grins, leaning against the wall between the mess and med bay.

He stands across from her stiffly. His posture carries the weight of everything they’d learned about proper form in boot camp; shoulders resting squarely, chin held high, spine as straight as a rail. Either Hackett is one strict son of a bitch, or John has something to prove. He’s certainly changed since she last saw him. His hair has been shaved off, only remaining as a gentle fuzz across his scalp. A new scar splits his left eyebrow. His smile is the same as ever, though.

She eases back against the wall, crossing her arms. “So tell me, how does it feel to be Hackett’s golden boy?”

“I dunno, how about you tell me how it feels to be Anderson’s attack dog?” John rebuts, smirking.

Behind the steady presentation of a good soldier, she can see the old mischief and charm in his eyes.

“Touche,” she hums. “He take your hair from you as punishment for something? Your head has never looked bigger.”

He looks hurt for a moment, then chuckles. “I’d have thought you’d like it. It’s one less thing to worry about. I don’t know how you stand to have your hair in your face all the time.”

“Beats looking like a dingy cue ball,” she jabs.

He grips his side dramatically. “You wound me, sis.”

She grins and winks. As they catch each other up on the last year or so, it becomes apparent that he hasn’t really changed; he’s just trying harder than ever to prove himself. He doesn’t need to, but it’ll never stop him trying. Akuze chewed him up and spat him out with a nasty load of survivor’s guilt.

She chews at her lip thoughtfully. “You know we’re supposed to have a Council Spectre aboard?”

“So I’ve heard. A turian named Nihlus.”

“Come on, John,” she presses, lowering her voice. “This mission stinks. They keep calling it a simple shakedown run, so what the hell is a Spectre here for? And why the need for a second debrief? What are they holding back?” 

“It’s weird, sure, but not _that_ weird. This is technically headed by the Council. They probably sent someone to supervise,” he reasons. “It’s probably nothing.”

He trusts in the chain of command all too much. It’s why he was the one invited into Fifth Fleet. He rarely talks back or questions orders. Talk first, shoot later. She’s not sure if her own brand of fierce independence is a strength or a weakness, but this assignment is shady.

“I don’t like it,” Jane grumbles. “Further, they haven’t assigned us together for years. So why start now?”

“I’ll give you that,” he says. A soft smile forms as he adds, “But hey, I can’t say I’m complaining. It’s been too long since we stirred up some trouble together.”

“That it has,” she sighs. She cocks her head and listens to the pilot talking his way through systems checks and approach vectors. “Sounds like we’re getting close to the relay. We should report to the bridge before Anderson comes looking for us.”

The twins stride through the ship purposefully. Passing crew members give them a wide berth, with respectful mumbles of “Commanders.” It’s awkward. Having them both here, with the same rank and surname, it’s bound to get a little weird. A turian in black and red armor stands proudly behind the helm, observing quietly. He notes the two of them with a nod before setting his eyes forward again. As Jane settles in next to him, his height and domineering presence start to unnerve her.

 _“So this is the Spectre,”_ she regards to herself. She’s seen plenty of other races in passing, so she knew turians were tall, but standing so close to one leaves her balking. Nihlus easily stands a full foot and a half taller than her. Sitting slightly below average height herself, she’s used to feeling small. Yet, from this angle, he’s like a tower spanning up toward the stars. Quietly, she takes a sharp breath and fixes her eyes to the helm. This is not the time to make a fool of herself by staring or squirming around. She glances at John from the corner of her eye. At his height, he’s at a much fairer vantage and doesn’t seem to bat an eye at the alien present.

The jump through the relay goes smooth, as the pilot rattles off figures. Jane understands bits and pieces. John, however, being much more mechanically proficient, seems impressed.

“All systems online. Drift… just under 1500K,” the pilot says dutifully.

Jane can’t make out his face from this angle, but he sounds fairly young. It’s interesting that a more seasoned pilot wasn’t chosen for the shakedown, especially on a highly experimental ship. Most of the pilots she’s known throughout her service are approaching their twilight years. A good few had even fought in the First Contact War, and know the ins and outs of frigate cockpits like the backs of their hands.

The Spectre catches her off guard when he finally speaks.

“1500 is good. Your captain will be pleased,” he says simply, and turns away. He carries himself with an overwhelming level of dignity, flowing through the CIC with a graceful stride. John’s elbow jabs into her ribs sharply, turning her attention forward once again. She was staring, she realizes. It would have been really uncomfortable if the Spectre had turned around.

“I hate that guy,” the pilot says after a moment. 

The Lieutenant speaks up. “Nihlus gave you a compliment. So… you hate him?”

The pilot pops off with a snarky remark. He’s definitely a young hotshot, she can already tell.

She glances to John, who looks equally astounded and irritated at the tone.

“Besides,” the pilot continues, “Spectres are trouble. I don’t like having him on board. Call me paranoid.”

“You’re paranoid,” the Lieutenant deadpans, leading into a defense for the Spectre's presence. 

Her brother shoots a look at her that says it all. If he could, he’d be waving his hands around and saying, “Look, Jane! A reasonable person! Listen to the reasonable person.”

“Yeah, that is the _official_ story,” the pilot responds. “But only an idiot believes the official story.”

Now it’s Jane’s turn to direct a smug look. John rolls his eyes.

Anderson’s voice comes over the comm, asking for a status report. 

The pilot is the one to answer. His name is Joker, huh? She’s known a pilot or two with a quirky nickname, but this one is a first. Anderson relates orders, all in line with standard ops. No cause for concern just yet...

“Aye, aye, Captain," Joker says. "Better brace yourself, sir. I think Nihlus is headed your way,” Joker says.

“He’s already here,” Anderson says, a sour note in his voice. “Tell the Commanders to meet me in the comm room for a debriefing.”

“You get that, uh, Commanders?”

“Yeah. Maybe something went wrong,” John says. For someone so trusting, he can be a real pessimist sometimes.

“God, I hope not,” Jane says under her breath.

“Pff, Captain always sounds like that when he’s talking to me,” Joker says.


	2. The Spectre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The twins meet Nihlus and discover Eden Prime is in trouble. Nonethless, there's a hell of a wager on the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've just made an accompanying playlist for your added enjoyment, if that's your thing. I'll add a new song as each chapter comes out, to fit the theme, so I recommend following it :) The link is [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4Jw7maq3EOyR2u04lObvBx?si=uy7dZr2jQUuBsdK8xeQM0Q)

Navigator Pressly is raving about the mission. For a crew of seasoned Alliance soldiers, everyone aboard seems awfully eager to speak their minds about this shakedown. John expects that level of distrust from his sister, but hearing subordinate crew question it makes him uneasy. Maybe Jane’s right; maybe there is something fishy here. Regardless of the validity, Pressly opening spelling out his notions in the middle of the CIC gives John half a mind to set him straight. It’s one thing for a Commander to voice a concern or two, but this level of opinionated chatter takes him aback. He makes a mental note to discuss it later. That is, until it becomes apparent that Jane has other ideas. She crosses her arms and leans back on the balls of her feet. That steady, immovable stance that says she’s about to speak her mind and anyone that disagrees can go to hell. 

_Here we go_...

Pressly turns and salutes them both. “Congratulations, Commanders. Looks like we had a smooth run. You heading down to see the Captain?” 

Jane doesn’t falter in skipping the pleasantries. “Sounds like you don’t trust our turian guest,” she says. 

Pressly frowns. “Sorry, Commander. Just having a chat with Adams down in Engineering. Didn’t mean to cause any trouble. But you have to admit, something’s odd about this mission. The whole crew feels it.” 

“I’ll agree with you there, Alliance brass is holding out on us. What are you thinking, Pressly?” Jane says. She still has a confrontational stance, but her shoulders have eased down. 

“Exactly! If all we’re supposed to do is test out the stealth system, why is Captain Anderson in charge? And then there’s Nihlus.” 

He rambles a moment more, somehow feeling the need to stress that Nihlus is a _turian_ Spectre. John has his own uncertainties with working with aliens, but he’s never quite understood why racial tensions have held up so profusely. 

“Something you’re trying to say?” says Jane. 

“I don’t like turians in general, ma’am. Runs in my family. My grandfather fought in the First Contact War; lost a lot of friends when the turians hit us,” Pressly defends. 

“That was thirty years ago,” John pipes up. “You can’t blame Nihlus for that.” 

“No, I guess not. But it still makes me nervous to have a Spectre on board, especially a turian.” Pressly gets shifty-eyed between the two of them. He’s surprisingly open for someone whose views are being questioned by not one, but two superior officers. 

“We’re an Alliance vessel, human military,” he continues. 

“Not sure I like your attitude,” Jane interrupts, practically purring the words. John _hates_ the way she can do that; how she hums threats out like she enjoys it. It’s always been just shy of terrifying. “Have you forgotten that the turians helped build this ship? The way I see it, Nihlus has just as much right to be here as I do.” 

“With all due respect, ma’am, it sounds like you’re putting a lot of faith in him. You know something I don’t?” 

Jane’s hand twitches into a fist. “It has nothing to do with faith. Or trust, for that matter. This assignment stinks to high heaven, but I won’t have you undermining our allies.” 

John opts to interrupt before his sister potentially sends the poor Navigator to the med bay in tears. He’s as passionate about the galactic cause as she is, but her take-no-shit way of handling disagreements is more than a little extreme. 

“We’re all a little tense here,” says John. “Let’s see if we can get some answers out of the Captain. Carry on, Pressly.” 

“Good luck, Commanders.” 

His sister shoots him a look of ice. He puts a hand on her shoulder and leads her toward the comm room, 

“Let it go,” he whispers. She uncrosses her arms. It’s reassuring to know he can still defuse her... most of the time. 

“Fuckin bigots,” she grumbles. “Humanity is never going to have a place in the galaxy if we don’t get over ourselves.” 

“I know,” John murmurs. 

Just outside the comm room, Doctor Chakwas and Corporal Jenkins are also discussing the oddity of the situation. Maybe there is something to it if everyone aboard is so convinced. The two turn expectantly at him and his sister as Jane’s footsteps slow to a halt. 

_Good god._ His sister is exceedingly comfortable under Anderson’s command. He’d never be so bold as to keep Hackett waiting around. When a supervising officer says ‘jump,’ he asks how high. Jane clearly feels differently, not batting an eye at the idea of making the Captain wait. 

“What do you think, Commanders?” Jenkins asks, saluting the two of them. “We won’t be staying on Eden Prime for too long, will we? I’m itching for some real action!” 

John shifts his weight from foot to foot anxiously. He’s half considering reporting to the comm room by himself, leaving her to explain herself. No use getting reprimanded with her. She may be cozy with the Captain, but John still feels like a guest here. He’s out of his element with this crew, to a degree. 

Chakwas scolds Jenkins for his short-sighted enthusiasm. John takes the chance to remind the kid that wishing for a fight will always get you one, and it may not be a battle you're ready for. 

“Nah,” Jane says, her eyes bright with mischief. “Marines are born to fight. You just fix us up when we’re done.” 

Naturally, she insists on defying every word he says. This is one of many reasons they don’t serve together; they always wind up butting heads over every little point. It’s one thing when it’s just the two of them, but another entirely when they have soldiers under their command. He does have to admit, assigning them together here is odd. They haven’t served aboard the same ship since they were Lieutenants, but he trusts Captain Anderson to come clean on the matter in time. Debrief protocol serves a purpose, after all. 

“I know how things work, Commander,” Chakwas assures, looking at Jane. “I’ve seen my share of combat, but it’s foolish to go looking for trouble."

“I agree,” John says. Trouble is Jane’s middle name, unfortunately. Telling her otherwise is about as productive as beating your head against a brick wall. 

“Sorry, sir,” Jenkins says, holding eye contact with him. “But this waiting’s killing me. I’ve never been on a mission like this before. Not with a Spectre on board!” 

“I understand, Jenkins. Just treat this like any other assignment, follow my orders, and you’ll do fine,” he says. 

“Easy for you to say. You two proved yourselves on Akuze and Elysium. Everybody knows what you can do,” Jenkins argues, emphasizing his 'big chance.' 

The mention of Akuze still sends pinpricks through John’s body. He was no hero that day; he proved nothing but his own stubbornness to survive. Lauding Jane for her victory on Elysium makes sense, but he’d been powerless on Akuze. Living through something doesn’t make you a hero. One of the Reds back on Earth once said that Shepard blood was strong; you couldn’t kill either of them. Akuze had made the joke a reality for him. Survival had come at a high cost, though. He still sees the lifeless faces of every Marine in his unit when he closes his eyes at night. 

“You’re young, Corporal,” he says. “You have a long career ahead of you, so don’t do something stupid to mess it up.” He can’t watch a young soldier like Jenkins die over personal ambition. Not that they're expecting combat on a quiet colony like Eden Prime. 

Jane must have noticed his disquiet, because she restates it authoritatively. “No heroics, Corporal.”

“Don’t worry, sir, ma’am. I’m not going to screw this up.” 

“See that you remember that,” Jane says before shifting the subject. “What can you tell me about Nihlus, doc?” Jane asks. 

“Not much, I’m afraid. I haven’t said more than two words to him. He usually only speaks to the Captain,” says Chakwas. 

Jane nods contemplatively before Jenkins speaks up, his youthful excitability spilling over again about a rumor that Nihlus once took an entire platoon down solo. 

John isn’t surprised to hear it. If half of what he’s heard about Spectres is true, Nihlus is probably damn near a one-man army. 

The pace at which Jane switches subjects is about enough to give John whiplash. 

“You’re from Eden Prime, aren’t you Jenkins? What’s it like?” she asks. 

His eyes shine with pride as he relates the peaceful memory; describing the picture of an idyllic colony childhood. He can't help but feel a pang of jealousy. He and Jane hadn’t been so lucky.

Jenkins explains his reasons for joining the Alliance--not that he'd been asked--and there's a particular restless spirit in his eyes when he says, "Even paradise gets boring after a while.” 

John can’t imagine it does. At least, not for him. He’s thirsted for a home and peaceful life since he was a teenager. The Alliance was as close as he’ll get to that, though. Fate has never intended to give him a rest, and he's accepted it. Jane seems to understand the sentiment, though. She nods, fire burning behind her green eyes. While John had been exhausted and worn down by gang life, she’d reveled in it, rushing headfirst into danger at every chance. 

“I just want to know what to expect,” Jane says. “The Captain’s waiting for us. About time I graced him with my presence.” 

She smirks and strides into the comm room, a bounce in her a step all of a sudden, like she’s pieced something together that he hasn’t quite grasped yet. 

Where the Captain ought to be standing, Nihlus looms tall. The screen before him is lit up with an image, presumably of Eden Prime. 

“Commanders,” he says. “I was hoping you’d get here first. It’ll give us a chance to talk.” 

Talk? What could a Spectre possibly want to talk to two Alliance Commanders about? Now it’s clicked with him. This really doesn’t feel quite right; the mission debrief was filled with smoke and mirrors. _Shit_. 

“The Captain said he’d meet us here,” John says. 

“He’s on his way,” Nihlus says with a nod, arms folded. 

Turian expressions are evidently damned impossible to read, so he can’t gauge his intentions properly. 

The Spectre paces around the comm room as he continues to talk, glossing over the finer details of the mission like he's hiding something.

While John holds no prejudice against other races, the turian standing before them is intimidating; partly because of his status but predominantly because he looks like an apex predator. Two rows of menacingly sharp teeth are visible as he speaks. His eyes pierce between the two of them, not holding contact with either of them. It triggers something primal in John; a fight or flight call that he has to push down. It’s easy to see why people panicked at first contact; this guy is damned terrifying. 

“I’m a Marine. Not some tourist on vacation,” Jane snaps, waving a hand dismissively. 

“It’s more than just a tourist destination, isn’t it, Shepard?” The turian flicks his eyes back to John, as though he’s trying to provoke a response out of each of them. 

John is content to let Jane do most of the talking; she has a way of sucking all the air out of the room, pulling it toward her. She isn’t afraid to speak her mind to authority figures, something John still hesitates to do. 

Nihlus goes on, talking about Eden Prime as a symbol in a tone that borders between intrigue and mockery. Where he lacks facial expression, Nihlus makes up for it with physical motion; moving his head, hands, and stride to add texture to his words. John isn’t sure if that’s a turian thing or just a Nihlus thing.

"But how safe is it really?” Nihlus concludes, staring Jane dead in the eyes.

The fire behind Jane’s green eyes is rising and rising as he speaks, like she’s liable to pounce. She’s learned how to better control her biotics over the last several years, thankfully. In days past, the expression across her face would be accompanied by dark energy sparking blue at her fingertips. 

“Are you trying to scare me, Spectre?” she challenges, taking a step toward him. 

“If you’ve got something to say, we’re listening,” John says, still trying to understand what he means to accomplish here. 

“Your people are still newcomers, Shepard. The galaxy can be a very dangerous place,” the Spectre hums, turning to meet Jane’s eyes. “Is the Alliance truly ready for this?” 

Jane is gazing right into Nihlus’ eyes defiantly. His immense height dwarfs her, but she doesn’t falter. With a gaze like that, she’s practically begging him to throw the first punch in a fistfight. Only she would have the guts to try and stare down a turian Spectre... 

The tension in the air is cut by the sound of the comm room door sliding open. Captain Anderson approaches. John turns to look at him, but Jane hasn’t backed down from her standoff glare with Nihlus. He breaks the look to peer at John. 

“I think it’s about time we told the Commanders what’s really going on,” Anderson says. 

“This mission is far more than a simple shakedown run,” the Spectre says. 

“I already figured that out,” Jane says sharply, cocking her head at the turian. 

John is getting irritated by all the back and forth jabber. He puts his hands out and sighs. “Can someone please fill us in, Captain?” 

“We’re making a covert pick-up on Eden Prime,” Anderson explains. “That’s why we needed the stealth systems operational.” 

“I don’t like being kept in the dark, Captain,” Jane hisses. 

“ _Jane,_ ” John murmurs, shooting her a chiding glare. “There must be a reason you didn’t tell us about this, sir,” he says to the Captain. 

“As I said earlier, this comes down from the top, Commanders. Information strictly on a need-to-know basis.” Anderson waves a finger authoritatively. He’s not sure if his adamance is in response to Jane’s attitude or not. He doesn’t know Anderson well enough to say. 

“I’m listening,” John says.

Anderson explains the situation, the short version, anyway, and elaborates on the importance of Prothean tech. He pauses, ambling to stand next to Nihlus, leaving the two Shepards to stand squarely alongside one another. 

“Prothean?” John says in disbelief. "The last time we found something of theirs... Well, we're here because of it." 

“Indeed, they left quite the legacy,” Nihlus says. 

“Then what’s a Council Spectre doing here?” Jane asks, cutting right past formalities. 

Nihlus responds, “This discovery could affect every species in Council space.” 

“I understand that,” John says. “But, respectfully, couldn’t we have handled this on our own? It seems like a simple enough pickup.” 

“You humans don’t have the best reputation. Some species see you as selfish. Too unpredictable, too independent. Even dangerous,” the Spectre explains. 

Jane folds her arms, studying Nihlus’ face. "So you're expecting trouble? From us, or someone else?" 

“I'm always expecting trouble, but the beacon’s not the only reason I’m here,” Nihlus adds. 

“Nihlus wants to see you two in action. He’s here to evaluate you,” Anderson says,

John’s stomach lurches into his throat. His words get away from him. “Since when do we answer to the Spectres, sir?” 

“You’re smart enough to know how things work, Shepard. The Alliance has been pushing for this for a long time. Humanity wants a larger role in shaping interstellar policy. We want more say with the Citadel Council.” 

“You’re not suggesting…,” John starts off, but lets it fall flat. No, it’s too much to presume. 

“No, I’m not suggesting. I’m saying it,” Anderson says, and begins elaborating on how getting a human into the Spectres benefits galactic politics and the Alliance as a whole. 

Nihlus steps closer into their space, saying, “There was a lengthy list of candidates. Many N-class soldiers, many strong choices. We were supposed to boil it down to a single individual, but I opted to evaluate the both of you. John, not many could have survived what you went through on Akuze. You showed a remarkable will to live--a particularly useful talent. And Jane,” 

He watches Jane stiffen at the uncouth use of her first name. 

“You held off an enemy assault during the Blitz single-handed. You showed not only courage, but also incredible skill. That’s why I put both your names forward as candidates for the Spectres.” 

“Why would a turian care about getting a human into the Spectres?” Jane asks.

Damn it, John realizes. Nihlus provoked her, challenged her, and now she’s testing him. 

“Not all turians resent humanity. Some of us see the potential in your species. We see what you have to offer to the galaxy, and to the Spectres. We are an elite group. It's rare to find an individual with the skills we seek. I don't care that you two are human, Shepard. I only care that you can do the job. ” 

“Just that simple, hm?” Jane asks. “While I’m honored, I don’t like people making decisions about _my_ future. 

“Is that so?” Nihlus says, taking another step forward, eyes locked on her. “I’ll remind you, your brother is being considered as well. I could easily exclude you from the evaluation. But something tells me you don’t _really_ want that.” His mandibles flick, inches from her face. Once again, if she’s intimidated, she’s certainly not showing it. 

The tone behind the threat doesn’t sound serious, it sounds wily and testing. Jane has set herself on defying him, questioning him. He’s evidently more than happy to play her game. Standing so assertively close together in their mostly unspoken battle for dominance, all of a sudden the two don’t seem so different. Behind the white paint, his face has a deep red undertone, and his eyes are the same shade of piercing green. They mirror one another even across the species barrier. 

“Very well,” Jane hums, backing down for what might be the first time John’s ever seen. Nihlus steps back from her steadily. 

“I need to see your skills for myself, Commanders. Eden Prime will be the first of several missions together,” says Nihlus. 

John shoots Jane a knowing smirk. They’re competing for this now, no choice in the matter. And he’ll be damned if he’s getting counted out easily.

It’s on. 


	3. The Wager

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (A little canon-heavy, but I digress.) The twins agree to a bet, John crosses a line, and Jane refuses to let Nihlus set off on his own.

Jane watches the bright smirk fall from John’s face; the excitement shattering to the floor as the transmission flashes over the screen. The gunfire and explosions resonate in the air, falling on the stillness in the comm room. Jane takes in the entire scene as a panicked soldier relates the situation’s urgency. The colony planet people have called a paradise has turned into a war zone, by the looks of it. She averts her eyes to the floor as the transmission becomes unintelligible, then turns to static. 

“It just cuts out after that, no comm traffic at all. Just goes dead. There’s nothing,” Joker says. 

“My God,” Jane breathes. 

“Reverse and hold at thirty-eight point five,” says Anderson. 

The screen cuts to an image of a figure looming in the sky above the colony. 

“What is that thing?” Jane asks, squeezing her eyebrows together as she inspects the image. 

“I think it’s a ship of some kind,” John says. “But it’s...odd. Nothing like I've ever seen.” 

Nihlus’ mandibles flick, but she can’t decipher what the expression means. His posture is rigid, arms tight to his sides. 

“Status report,” Anderson orders. 

“Seventeen minutes out, Captain. No other Alliance ships in the area,” says Joker. 

“Take us in, Joker. Fast and quiet,” says Anderson. “This mission just got a lot more complicated.” 

Nihlus speaks up, “A small strike team can move quickly without drawing attention. It’s our best chance at securing the beacon.” 

John’s eyes haven’t broken away from the screen. His gentle manner has washed away, blue eyes ablaze with tenacity. It’s the kind of fierceness Spectres are supposedly made of; all heroics and valor. If they really are competing over this, she’s got her work cut out for her. 

“Grab your gear and meet us in the cargo hold,” Anderson barks to Nihlus. He turns to the two of them as the Spectre walks out. “Tell Alenko and Jenkins to suit up. You two are going in.” 

“Aye aye, Captain,” Jane nods. 

John is quiet, turning back to look at the screen one more time. The two of them walk out standing nearly shoulder to shoulder. 

“Jenkins, suit up and get to the cargo hold, _now_ ,” John calls, not stopping. He marches with absolute steadiness, looking ready to take on the world. 

The Corporal stands at attention. “Problem, sir?” he asks, leaning his head after him. 

“We’ve got trouble in paradise, kid,” Jane says coolly. “We’re on the ground in 15. Tell Alenko he’s coming with.” 

“I’m on it,” says Jenkins, bounding off toward the cockpit.

John’s hand twitches anxiously as he steps into the elevator. 

Jane steps in beside him and asks, “What’s going on in that head of your head of yours?” 

“There’s bound to be a lot of dead colonists out there today. I intend to be ready,” he says. 

“You’re never ready for that kind of thing,” Jane reasons. She chews her lip a moment before adding, “I know that smirk you gave me before this went to hell. You thinking what I’m thinking?” 

He meets her eyes, and his rigid expression melts away for a moment. “Care for a wager?” he hums. 

The pleasant rivalry in his voice, the fervor behind it--that’s the brother she grew up with. The brother she’s been missing. The routine is easy to fall into, always ready for the wager, ready to play dirty. She’s glad the Fifth Fleet hasn’t taken away his willingness to jump right into the mud with her. The last thing they’d wagered over was the N-class program. It had gotten tense, in the best way possible, but ultimately they both made the cut. This time, that’s not happening. They can’t stay at equal ranks forever. Eventually, someone will be the victor. They’ve always known it. 

“Always,” she challenges. “I bet I’ll be the first human Spectre.” 

“A hundred credits says it’s me,” he says, grinning wolfishly. 

Jane scoffs. “A hundred? _Please._ We’re making Alliance history here. Human history. You can do better than that.” 

“Five hundred,” he snaps back, quick to the beat. 

“Double or nothing,” she retorts as they step off the elevator. 

“Deal,” he hums, “But we need a contingency.” 

“Let’s hear it.” 

“There are no promises being made here,” he explains. “So what’s the agreement if neither of us makes the cut?”

She thinks over the idea, pulling her guns from her locker. “Then we find the filthiest hellhole of a bar in Alliance space and drink ‘til we don’t remember our own names,” she says. 

He chuckles and puts his hand out. She grasps it firmly, meeting their forearms together so they touch at the elbow. By their own code, they’re bound to their wager now. There's no rules, no mercy to be shown, and no backing down. Resting on top of it all is the promise that no hard feelings will remain when they come out on the other side. This is how it’s always been, and she hopes it’s how it always will be. 

“You’re on, brother,” she hums, securing her weapons to their holds on her armor. 

Nihlus is sitting at the far end of the cargo hold, typing into his omni-tool. His eyes are narrowed in hard focus, but he’s sitting lax among the crates, legs sprawled out leisurely. 

“Look at that guy,” she scoffs to John. “He practically looks bored _.”_

“He’s probably been through a hundred missions like this, so I can’t imagine he shies away at a snafu. But gee, he sure has ruffled your feathers,” says John, raising an eyebrow. “Did I miss something?” 

“He just makes me uneasy,” she grumbles. 

“How so?” asks John. 

She brushes a strand of hair out of her face, and says, “I didn’t appreciate his little intimidation act back there. Trying to jerk me around and see if I crack.” 

“It’s kind of his job, I guess,” John reasons. 

“I don’t give a damn. I don’t buy the ‘big scary Spectre’ thing.” 

That gets a soft chuckle out of her brother. 

“Something funny?” she asks.

John gives her a crooked smile. “He’s got you on the warpath, is all. I haven’t seen you this annoyed by somebody’s entire manner since you met Ai--”

“ _Don’t,_ ” she growls. She moves to get in his face, staring daggers at him. “I buried him ten years ago, don’t you dare try and dig him up again.” 

He holds her gaze. He’s not scared of her, and he’s not going to pretend to be. There’s a long list of people in the galaxy she’d tear apart for dragging up the past, but John isn’t one of them. Still, she intends to put him back over the line he’s crossed. 

“You don’t have to remind me he’s dead. But burying people doesn’t mean forgetting them, you know. He was my friend, too,” he says, pushing her back gently by the shoulder. 

She snaps herself away from his grasp. “No. Dwelling on the past won’t do anyone good. He’s dead, I’m alive. That’s all there is to it.”

“Jane,” her brother murmurs. “You loved him.” 

“Drop it, John!” she shouts. 

“Fine,” he sighs. A long silence passes before he says, “I was just saying, anyone that gets you this fired up usually ends up in a whole different kind of skirmish with you. _.._ ” 

As if the insinuation wasn’t bad enough, he _winks._

“That’s gross, John.” 

“Hey, I’m just saying. You go through life cracking people’s spines. I think you get excited when they push back,” he says. “Admit it. You like having a worthy opponent.”

“Whatever,” she says, rolling her eyes. 

Alenko and Jenkins hop off the elevator and spare no hesitation in grabbing their gear. Thank god, because she’s ready to be done with whatever this conversation has turned into. 

She cocks her head over to Nihlus. His mandibles hang low on his face, exposing his teeth. Her brother has a point. The Spectre presents a new kind of challenge. She can’t read his facial expressions, so it’s tough to gauge what he’s thinking, or how he intends his words. His three long fingers are tapered down to the edge, reminding her that turian hands are tipped with talons. With razor-sharp teeth, long claws, small round eyes, and armored bodies, they’re intimidating as all hell. Part of N-class training covered basic nonhuman biology; they’d learned that turians evolved from apex predators, and still carry numerous traits to prove it. Nihlus looks like he could tear her throat open with an easy bite or slash of his hand. Yet, she’d opted to blatantly provoke him. The raw conflict brewing between them is exhilarating. 

She’d do well to remind herself that she’s out to impress him and prove herself worthy of the Spectre title, but a large part of her just wants to see how far she can push him until he snaps, and what it’ll look like when he does. If he wants to play mind games, he’d better believe she’ll turn the tables on him. Maybe he’s actually strong enough to keep up. Sexual suggestion aside, maybe John is right; maybe she thrives on the idea of an equal power to contend with. 

Joker’s voice rings over the comm. “Engaging stealth systems.” 

“Alright, people,” Jane calls. “We’re going in any minute now. It’s not going to be pretty out there, so prepare yourselves.” 

“Jenkins, you gonna be okay? You might know people down there, so I need to know you’re ready for anything we might see,” says John. 

“I’m ready, sir. The way I see it, I’m defending my home,” says Jenkins, readying his assault rifle. 

“Good attitude, Corporal. Remember what we talked about?” he asks. 

“Yes sir! No heroics, no stupid moves.” 

“Good boy,” John nods. 

“Spoken like true leaders,” Anderson says, approaching. “None of us were prepared for this to go south, but I’m glad to see you two stepping up.” 

“Thank you, sir,” the twins chime together. 

“Your team’s the muscle in this operation. Go in heavy and head straight for the dig site,” Anderson orders. 

“What about survivors, Captain?” Alenko asks. 

“I’m with Alenko on this one,” John says. “There could still be people in danger down there.” 

“Helping survivors is a secondary objective. The beacon’s your top priority.” 

“Understood, sir,” says John. 

Nihlus approaches as Joker announces the approach of their drop point. He stands tall and proud, readying a shotgun. The red tint to his face is highlighted by the sunlight as the hangar bay door opens. 

“Nihlus, you’re coming with us?” Jenkins asks. 

“I move faster on my own,” says Nihlus. 

_What a fucking hothead_. Jane steps toward him imposingly. He’s not marking off her first chance to prove herself just because he thinks they can’t keep up. Not when she’s got a thousand credits and her honor riding on this. 

“Like hell you do,” Jane snaps. “I’m coming with you.”

“This is too important to let you slow me down, Shepard. Next time,” he says. 

“ _No._ This time. I’m not some rookie out here on their first mission, I’m a decorated N7 Marine! You think I slowed anybody down on Elysium? Get over yourself.” 

“I said no, Commander, no arguments,” he says. 

She sticks her face right up to his, looking up at him in anger. “You wanna argue, sit here with our thumbs up our asses? I can go all damn day. If you wanna take off by yourself, you’ll have to beat me back with a stick to do it. We’re going in blind and you’re better off with a soldier like me to watch your flank, _Spectre._ ”

“Save your energy for the enemy, Shepard!” Anderson barks. “No use burning off your biotics here.” 

_Shit._ She looks at her hand, glowing faintly blue with a barrier. She takes a deep breath, easing the field down. 

“What about your team? Don’t you think they need you?” says Nihlus.

“John can handle himself just fine, you’re just pissing around,” she lows. 

Anderson nods a hesitant agreement. Nihlus sighs gruffly before nodding his head. 

“ _Fine,_ ” he growls. “Let’s move.” 

She nods and shoots a smirk at John as they sprint out the hangar door. He moves fast but it’s no challenge to keep up. She could run circles around him at this pace. Sweet adrenaline rushes through her as her feet thrum against the ground, settling into a rhythm. It's turning into a hell of a day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, this was a fun chapter to write! Saving Nihlus from his canon fate, alluding to Jane's romantic backstory, establishing a few tensions... lots of things planned, lots of twists forthcoming! Drop a comment for anything you'd like to see in future chapters, as I am taking suggestions and constructive criticism <3


	4. The Fatality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John takes Jenkins' death hard, but presses forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last stop for canon!

The Normandy flits across the sky above them and vanishes into the horizon. John stretches his neck from side to side, taking a moment to get a sense of his footing and the planet’s gravity. It’s similar to Earth’s, so he feels steady and sure of his movements. Good. With no intel, radio silence, and an unknown enemy threat, he needs to be at peak performance. There’s no room for mistakes today. 

The world before him is certainly no paradise now. The sky overhead is red like the blood of fallen colonists; as if the planet itself is reflecting the grisly circumstances back to them. A nearby rock bears faint scorch marks from weapons fire. 

“Jenkins, you know where we’re at?” John asks. 

“Yes, sir. The edge of the research base is a short hike away,” the Corporal points, “That direction.” 

“Good. Keep your eyes open and watch your backs, people. We’re moving out.”

“This place got hit hard, Commander. Hostiles everywhere. Keep your guard up,” Nihlus says over the comm. 

“Noted,” John says. 

“This place smells like smoke and death,” says Alenko.

Jenkins doesn’t breathe a word. John can’t imagine how it must feel to watch your home planet decimated like this. Alenko’s right; the place stinks. The air leaves an acrid taste on his tongue. It’s bitter poetry; the colony named after the garden of Eden seems to be falling just as its mythical namesake did. The only question remaining is the identity of the serpent sending it all crashing down. 

He signals the two Marines to follow him. He has to stow his emotions and stay frosty; there’s no room for mistakes here. If Anderson hadn’t ordered comm silence, he’d be asking for reports from Jane and Nihlus on what kind of hostiles they’re facing. N-class soldiers are trained extensively for blind missions, but this one puts an ominous feeling in his chest. 

There are floating masses of...something...ahead of them. They’re ugly as all hell; looking like living tumors hovering around. The sight of them stirs a bit of disgust in John’s stomach. 

Alenko speaks his mind for him, saying, “What the hell are those?” 

“Gas Bags. Don’t worry, they’re harmless,” says Jenkins.

“Tell that to my poor eyes,” John groans. “ _T_ _hat’s_ your local fauna?” 

“There are other animals here too. Some are really cool,” says Jenkins. His voice grows somber as he says, “They’re probably hiding from all the gunfire.” 

“Stay focused, Jenkins. We’ll get through this,” says John.

“Yes...sir.” 

They come to a bend in their path. John drops low, signals a stop, and scans the area. The wall of rocky terrain blocks the view ahead, so anything could be waiting out there. It’s the perfect spot for an ambush. He signals Jenkins to take point. The Corporal stares hard down the barrel of his gun as he moves forward, moving out far too hastily. Before he can order him to slow down and stick to cover, there’s gunfire. Jenkins’ shrill cry pierces the air, echoing in his ears. John peers from cover just in time to see the young Corporal thrash helplessly under the hail of rounds, and drop to the ground.

John tucks into frontline cover and fires at the drones until the trigger _clicks._ He opens his omni-tool and sets it to overload the last drone’s systems. There’s a burst of electricity, and it falls to the ground. As he approaches Jenkins’ body, the lifeless eyes of every Marine in his old unit flash through his head. His throat begs to cry out, but he presses it down. Jenkins’ dead eyes seem to stare right into him, accusing him. He failed him. He failed them all. Military justifications run through his mind; soldiers die, nothing he could have done, they all know what they sign up for... None of it helps. It doesn’t take the guilt away. 

Alenko leans down to close the Corporal’s eyes. “Ripped right through his shields. Never had a chance,” he says. 

John has to fight not to have his legs go out from under him. This is not the time to fall apart; it’s the time to be strong, pull it together, get the job done. “Shoot first, lick your wounds later,” as his old CO used to say. He stows his emotions deep and steadies himself. Deep breath--no, two deep breaths. He has to be a leader, has to act like the Commander he is. 

“We’ll see that he receives a proper service once the mission is complete. But I need you to stay focused,” he says, both to Alenko and himself. 

Alenko steels himself and says, “Aye aye, sir.” 

There’s more gunfire in the near distance. “Double time, LT,” he orders. 

Alenko nods and falls in behind him. John burns through the drones one by one; overloading systems, sabotaging firing mechanisms, and unleashing a hail of pistol fire on them; burning through them without taking a pause for breath. Between his kinetics, barriers, and quick footwork, they never get through his shields. 

When they reach the source of the gunfire, he crouches down by a rock and takes a moment to get his bearings. The figures in the near distance are unfamiliar at best; not organic life forms and too complex to be mechs. It doesn’t matter at the moment, because whatever they are, they’re shooting at him. His biotics pulse under his skin as he lifts one and fires on it while it floats away helplessly. It’s muscle memory at work; switching between biotics, tech attacks, and his pistol. 

When the immediate hostiles have been neutralized, he has to pause at the spikes looming ahead. There are people impaled on them, blood streaking down the metal in long crimson rivulets. It’s needlessly barbaric and serves no apparent purpose. Ritual, maybe? Torture? Sending a message? Every question only opens the door to another. For now, he has to slam them all shut and work with what he has. 

He approaches the solitary soldier taking cover. She’s panting to catch her breath and her face glistens with sweat. 

“Thanks. I thought I was done for. Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams of the 212. You the one in charge here, sir?” she says. 

“For now,” John says. “I’m Commander John Shepard. Are you wounded, Williams?” 

“Just a few scrapes and burns, nothing serious. The others weren’t so lucky. Oh, man... We were patrolling the perimeter when the attack hit. We tried to get off a distress call, but they cut off our communications. I’ve been fighting for my life ever since.” 

“We’re here to help. What happened to the rest of your squad?” John says. 

Her voice quivers as she speaks. “We tried to double back to the beacon, but we walked into an ambush. I don’t think any of the others... I think I’m the only one left.” 

So this really was a blitz attack. No warning, no advanced intel, and no preparations. There’s likely more dead than alive on this colony. There may not even be civilian survivors in an attack like this. 

“This isn’t your fault, Williams. You couldn’t have done anything to save them,” says John.

The words are hollow. Everyone says them, and it never helps. No amount of assurance from superior officers or even military therapists ever fixes it. If she lost her entire unit, nobody can say anything to take the guilt away. That loss lingers, taunts you in the night, follows you from the shadows. But it doesn’t stop him saying them. Empty reassurance is better than none at all. A little sympathy never killed anyone, after all. Not as far as he knows, that is. 

“Yes, sir,” she says, tipping her head down to look at her feet. Just as he expected, the affirmation falls flat.

This mission feels like a sick punishment from some cosmic force beyond his control. Every turn of events drags up old wounds, reflecting his faults back at him as he’s doomed to relive and repeat them. It’s starting to turn him bitter. What’s next, a magically appearing Thresher Maw? 

“Any idea what kind of enemy we’re facing?” he asks. 

“I think they’re Geth,” Williams says shakily. 

“The Geth haven’t been seen outside the Veil for nearly 200 years. Why are they here now?” Alenko says, furrowing his brow. 

“They must have come for the beacon,” says Williams. “The dig site is close, just over that rise. It might still be there.” 

Time is short, but he can’t keep fumbling in the dark against hostiles he knows next to nothing about. He’s heard the name a few times, but it was spoken about like a campfire story. 

“I need intel here,” says John. “What do you know about the Geth?” 

“Just what I remember from history class back in school. They’re synthetics with limited AI programming created by the Quarians a few centuries ago. They were supposed to be a source of cheap labor, but--”

John puts up a hand. “Sorry, I wasn’t asking for a biography on them. I meant I need weaknesses, combat tactics, anything at all you’ve picked up on.” 

“Oh,” she says. “No, I can’t help you there. It all happened so fast.” 

He nods. “That’s okay. I’m just grasping for straws here. Have you seen a turian Spectre and an Alliance Commander around?” He chews his lip for a moment as he realizes one is far more distinctive than the other. He gestures a hand level with his shoulder and adds, “She’s about yea high, and the Spectre is, well...a turian.”

“Uh... there aren’t any turians on Eden Prime. None that I’ve ever met. Not sure if I’d be able to tell if one was a Spectre anyway. And you’re the first officers that have come through here.” 

“If you saw this guy, you’d know,” Alenko says. “He carries enough firepower to wipe out a whole platoon. Luckily, he’s on our side. And the Commander with him is an N7 biotic.” 

“Sorry. Like I said, I haven’t seen any turians or officers.” 

There’s no point flooding her with questions right now. There isn’t time and her nerves are obviously fried. 

“Alright then,” John sighs. “We could use your help, Williams. Take us to the dig site.” 

“Sure thing, sir,” she says. Her eyes narrow, and she adds darkly, “It’s time for payback.” 

He keeps his pistol aimed clear in front of him, tracking it along to each direction he looks as he leads. He keeps Alenko and Williams squarely behind him. Nobody else is dying under his watch today, he’ll make damned sure of it. 

He’s itching to radio the others. The anxiety is damping his focus, not knowing if they’re safe or even still alive. Dread grows in his gut every passing minute. Jane can handle herself just fine, but he doesn’t trust Nihlus just yet. If the Spectre gets his sister killed, John will want blood. They walked into this sorely unprepared and anything can go wrong. He’s seen enough death for one day, so his sister had better be safe. 

It isn’t surprising that Chief Williams was the one to survive the attack. The moment the Geth rear their ugly heads, she’s on them with some major firepower alongside him. She’s handy with an assault rifle and fights offensively, so he’s able to focus on suppressing the hostiles with tech attacks. Once their shields are down, taking them out is easy work. Still, he’s cautious to mind his own barriers. If the Geth knock them out, he’s laid open and vulnerable to any strike they make. 

“All targets down,” says Alenko. 

“This is the dig site,” says Williams. “The beacon was right here. It must have been moved.” 

“Fuck,” John says under his breath. 

“By who? Our side, or the Geth?” asks Alenko. 

“Hard to say. Maybe we’ll know more after we check out the research camp,” she says.

“You think anyone got out of here alive?” John asks.

“If they were lucky. Maybe hiding up in the camp.” 

“Then let’s move out. No time to waste,” says John. “Good work here, let’s keep it up. Watch your sixes and don’t take _any_ chances. I refuse to lose anyone else today.” 

Just as he’s starting to come quietly unnerved, Jane’s voice is in his ear. 

“Change of plans, John. There’s a little spaceport up ahead. Nihlus wants to check it out. We’ll rendezvous there.”

Knowing she’s okay, and they have the situation under control thus far, he feels like he can breathe again. But it’s mere minutes before the anxiety sets back in. This is another reason the two don’t serve side by side. His sister becomes his first priority and takes up all too much of his focus when they split up. Worrying about her the entire mission can get people killed; he has to be sharper than this. 

_Fuck radio silent ops._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very excited for next chapter. Rejoice, Team #NihlusDeservedBetter, because Jane is having none of Saren's crap.


	5. The Rogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane and Nihlus get on each other's nerves, but make a good team. Conflict arises when a certain Spectre makes an attempt on Nihlus' life.

Nihlus moves across the battlefield like he was born for it. It’s almost an art, the way he flows through the operation with catlike grace. Jane hadn’t thought his tactics would be based around agility and precision, considering his bulky armor. She’s almost jealous; he’s taking all the best shots, burning through hostiles at an alarming rate. 

“What the hell are these things?” she shouts, firing off a shotgun blast into one of their synthetic chests. 

“They’re _geth_ ,” he says. 

He peers out of cover to line up a shot, eyes narrowed in focus. The round strikes it right in the head. The light flickers out and it goes down, making a mechanical screech as it dies. 

“That supposed to mean something?” she asks. 

“Explanation later, focus, Shepard,” says Nihlus. 

_Fine._ If he needs a ceasefire to give some damned answers, she’ll finish this here and now. 

“Cover me!” she says, vaulting over the crate she’s been taking cover behind. 

“What the hell are you--Shepard! Get down!” he says. 

Jane sprints right into the heat of the field, shielding herself with a biotic barrier. She lets out a feral growl as she fires into the first enemy she sees. She’s exposed out here, protected only by a thin mass effect field that could fail at any moment. The sheer rawness of it is exhilarating. Adrenaline hammers in her chest. She’s most alive when she could die at any moment. The lifelong rage she’s carried erupts from within, shredding through everything in her path. A geth unit raises a gun. She grabs it biotically, lifting it into the air and then throwing it with the strongest force she can muster. She chuckles as it flies helplessly away and slams into a tree. 

“On your six!” Nihlus shouts. 

She turns and fires three rounds off her shotgun. The gun protests the overheat, alerting her to its cooldown period. Her fist meets hardened metal, stinging with the impact. She strikes a weak spot and the already staggering geth falls to the ground. Some kind of white synthetic fluid splashes on her face, odorless and slick. 

“Clear!” says Nihlus, standing up. 

He shakes his head as he approaches her, brow plates lowered. She’s probably not misreading the annoyance in his face. 

“That tactic was reckless,” he says. 

She wipes her face, scowling. 

“Did you even read my file? I was trained as a vanguard. This is what I do,” she says. 

“You punched a _geth_ ,” he says, cocking his head. 

She smirks and says, “It worked, didn’t it?” 

“I suppose it did,” he sighs. “We should keep moving.” 

“Hold up. I just took out four of those things by myself. I think I deserve some answers as to what exactly a ‘geth’ is,” she says, folding her arms. 

His mandibles twitch when he meets her eyes. She listens with rapt attention as he gives her the short version, which is harrowing in and of itself. 

“That’s...screwed up. So why are they out here?”

“No idea. But I intend to find out. May I remind you, you assured me you wouldn’t slow me down, and you’ve just cost us precious time getting to that beacon,” says Nihlus, striding off at double-time. 

“Then what are we still standing around here for?” she snarks. 

The remark earns her a bewildered glance over his shoulder. She giggles to herself. 

“Is your species always this antagonistic?” he asks. 

“Not particularly. You could say I’m a special case.” 

“So you make a habit of challenging your superiors?” says Nihlus. 

“I’ve gotten a few slaps on the wrist, I’ll say that much. You’re a real piece of work, though,” she says. 

“I see. And what is it about me that has you so intent on defiance?” 

“I can’t say I like Spectres that think they’re better than everyone else. Besides...you make it fun.” 

His pace falters a moment. “Fun? You’re _enjoying_ this?” 

“Aren’t you? Just a little bit?” she asks, moving quicker to walk alongside him.

“No,” he says, not turning to look at her. “In fact, I get the distinct impression that you’re not taking this mission seriously.” 

“Don’t you dare,” she growls. “This is important to me. This colony matters to me.” 

“Then act like it,” he says. 

“I don’t need to. I don’t have to justify my attitude to you,” Jane says. 

“If you think that’s the case, then you clearly don’t understand the nature of this evaluation,” says Nihlus. 

Her hand tightens into a fist. “You think I haven’t noticed every single dead colonist here? You think I’m not gonna remember their faces? But pissing and moaning about it won’t help these people, and it won’t get us to that beacon any faster. I’m focused. I just don’t see the need to shove a stick up my ass about it and pretend to be something I’m not. Deal with it or go hang out with my brother. He’s the warm and fuzzy one. I’ll cooperate and follow orders, but I’m sure as hell not going to act like I owe you anything. They didn’t pick me for N7 because I was content to stroke egos or keep my mouth shut. They picked me because I’m a damn good soldier.” 

“Point taken. But I’ll remind you, you know nothing about me. You presume a lot about me, Shepard,” says Nihlus. 

“Then prove me wrong,” says Jane. 

Nihlus says nothing, merely continues walking. Before she has the chance to get comfortable with the silence, Nihlus’ hand is on her back, pushing her down into cover. She has to restrain herself from whirling around on him at the startling move. 

“Enemy unit ahead, stay down,” he says. “Six that I can see. We can take out two, maybe three, before they have the chance to strike back, provided we stay out of sight.” 

“Hit ‘em with everything we’ve got before they know we’re here. I like it,” Jane says. 

“See that spaceport up there? We should take a look.” 

“Okay. So we catch those geth off their guard and blitz them,” she says. “Biotic attack first?” 

“That could work. Get in close, like before. Sneak up on them, and don’t let them knock out your shields,” he says, nodding. 

“I knew you were impressed,” she says, giving him a smug look. 

Nihlus takes his hand off her back. She hadn’t noticed it was still there until now, and it gives her a cold sensation. She doesn’t like strangers touching her, but he’s earned enough of her respect in the last hour that she won’t bite his head off for it. 

“I’ll draw their fire, get them spread thin. Radio team two with a status update,” he says. His eyes are fixed squarely ahead. 

She nods, and comms her brother. “Change of plans, John. There’s a little spaceport up ahead. Nihlus wants to check it out. We’ll rendezvous there.” 

She meets Nihlus’ eyes. He gives her a nod, spurring her to move in. Jane sneaks around cover, keeping the geth in her sights. Nihlus is only a few paces behind her, coiled and ready to attack. She’s quiet in her movements, encroaching on the enemy one bowed step at a time. When she’s finally right on them, she throws up her barrier and strikes. She directs a biotic lift between two of them, letting out a victorious cheer when the field successfully sweeps both of them into the air. Two shots ring out, and they’re down. The other geth are moving in on them fast now. She fires her pistol into the nearest one and curses when it overheats. Nihlus shoots the unit down before she has the chance to throw it. She lands a hefty kick to its face as it tries to get back up. Working in tandem with one another, they burn through the remaining few. 

“I think we’re--” she stops dead in the middle of speaking when some kind of humanoid creature comes pacing toward them. “What the _fuck_?” 

It’s distinctly human in shape and nothing else. Several more are approaching. She’s frozen in shock at the sight. Blue light emanates from cracks in their skin and their eyes are entirely synthetic. They move like zombies from twentieth century films, running with feral intent. Their arms flail as they move, like they barely have motor control. She makes the mistake of letting one get too close. It howls, some kind of horrible choked sound that sends chills down her spine, and releases a pulse that knocks out her shields in an instant. 

“Shit!”

Jane’s amp is still on cooldown, so her guns are all she has. She fires wildly as they pin her down. One of them lands a blow to her ribs, knocking the breath out of her even through her armor. Nihlus is moving desperately, all but beating them off of him. 

“Not today, fuckers,” Jane snarls, leaping onto one at full force and landing punches until it stills. They manage to hack their way through them in time, but she’s feeling the effects of the attack. 

“You okay?” Nihlus asks. 

“Yeah,” she says. She grips her ribs with a groan. “Nothing a little medi-gel won’t fix. You?” 

“I’m alright,” he says. “I’m not sure what to make of these creatures.” 

She kneels down by one to inspect it. “They were definitely human but they’ve been...converted somehow. They’re just mindless attack dogs, from the look of it.” 

“They came down off those spikes over there. I’ve never seen tech like this before,” says Nihlus. 

She clenches her jaw, feeling the horror run through her. Seeing human beings, civilians no less, turned into empty monsters as cannon fodder. 

“These people never stood a chance, but _this._ It’s an atrocity. These bastards are gonna pay for this,” Jane says. “Let’s get to that spaceport. This ends today.” 

Nihlus watches her wordlessly and lets her lead the way. She’s gained a new stride, taking each step with iron resolve. It’s a short and silent trip to the spaceport. She’s seething every moment of the way, her skin still crawling from the encounter. Eventually, Nihlus overtakes her. She falls in behind him, staying wary for another ambush. A lone figure stands in the distance, prompting Nihlus to tuck away into cover. The Spectre stands, gun ready. She watches his guard drop all at once as he lowers his gun to his side and his shoulders ease down. 

“Saren?” he says, signaling her to lower her weapon. 

“Nihlus,” the turian says. 

A bad feeling rises in her gut, crawling up into her throat. The lone turian--Saren, he called him--has a menacing look about him, _something_ off that she can’t put her finger on. What the hell is a turian doing on Eden Prime, looking so at ease in the midst of all this? 

“This isn’t your mission, Saren. What are you doing here?” Nihlus asks. 

“The Council thought you could use some help on this one,” Saren says. He puts his hand on Nihlus’ soldier. 

He’s too calm for a situation like this, pacing around nonchalantly. His posture comes across as predatory despite the reassurance in his words. Jane grows more unnerved by the minute. 

“Care to introduce me?” Jane asks. 

“Apologies, Commander. This is Saren Arterius, a fellow Spectre...and my old mentor. Saren, this is Commander Jane Shepard.” 

“Nice to meet you,” she says, gritting her teeth. 

Nihlus seems unperturbed by Saren’s presence, taking the short explanation without question. Saren turns his eyes on Jane, sizing her up. She sneers at him. He doesn’t bother to address her. 

“Unfortunate that the Council has decided to devote such time to making nice with the humans,” Saren says. 

It’s a low blow, clearly meant to provoke her. She won’t give him the satisfaction. “Speaking of them, I doubt they thought this mission warranted a second Spectre. Surely they had more important things for you,” Jane says. “Unless they make a habit of sending their supposed best agents on fetch missions.” 

“The situation changed,” Saren says. 

“Oh? How did they find out what was going on here so quickly? This place was peaceful until a few hours ago.” 

“Word spreads fast. I was in the area,” he says, turning away from her.

“I don’t buy it. Either someone got intel out, or your buddy here is lying through his teeth,” she says. 

“Ever the hasty species,” Saren shakes his head. “Quick to assume hostility, aren’t you?” 

“Nihlus, you can’t be--” Jane says. 

“Shepard, back down,” Nihlus says. “We have bigger things to worry about. I trust Saren with my life.” 

_That’s a mistake._ His presence is too convenient, his explanations too vague. Nihlus is determined not to hear her, but she’s not taking her eyes off Saren for a second. He paces around behind Nihlus, who keeps his back turned to him. 

“I wasn’t expecting to find the geth here. The situation’s bad,” Nihlus says. 

“Don’t worry. I’ve got it under control,” Saren says. 

It all happens in a flash of red. Her body moves before she’s even processed what happened. The pistol raises to the back of Nihlus’ head, and Jane pounces like a coiled spring. The shot rings out in the open air, and Saren is pinned to the ground beneath her. 

“You traitorous bastard!” she yells, wrestling him for the gun. 

“Shepard, what the hell are you doing?” Nihlus shouts. 

She’s kicking and screaming out strings of curses as Nihlus rips her from atop Saren. His taloned hands dig into the gaps in her armor as she struggles to break free of his grasp. 

“Get the fuck off of me!”

“Shepard, restrain yourself!” 

“I. Said. Get. OFF!” Jane says. 

The more she struggles against him, the stronger he seems to be; talons bound to leave nasty bruises. She throws her head back viciously in an attempt to deter him. For any human, it would have worked, but her head only impacts with the hard armor on his chest. 

“Honestly,” Saren scoffs. “Is this how the human Alliance garners peace? Attacking their allies unprovoked?” 

The anger turns from a boiling frenzy to steady fury, flowing through every vein. She manages to gain enough composure to try and talk sense into the Spectre holding her back. 

“Nihlus, take your hands off me. Now.” 

He reluctantly lets go of her. She gives him the fiercest gaze she can muster and shoves him back. 

“This bastard just tried to kill you!” 

“Commander, I don’t know what’s come over you, but--” 

“No!” she shouts. “That shot went right by your head. I’d bet my last credit your ears are still ringing. You _have_ to believe me.”

Nihlus looks between the two of them. She doesn’t have to understand turian expressions to know he’s confused and conflicted. His mandibles flare, and he finally gives her a soft nod. 

“Nihlus, you know me,” Saren hisses. “The human is lying.” 

Nihlus takes a long moment before he draws his pistol on the fellow Spectre. 

“Saren… I’m taking you in. We’ll settle this before the Council,” he says. There’s no mistaking the tremble in his hands. 

“You can’t possibly believe this! You know humans can’t be trusted,” says Saren. 

“You’re wrong. Come peacefully. We can make this right,” Nihlus says. 

“No,” Saren says, shaking his head. 

He fires a shot. It strikes Nihlus in the torso, stunning him. Saren takes the opportunity to turn tail and run, shouting something into his comm. Jane takes off after him as fast as her legs can carry her. She’s almost on him when a rocket hits a crate right in front of her. The blast knocks her back. Everything goes dark. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger! Don't worry, we're picking right back up in Jane's perspective next chapter. Oh man, this was a fun chapter. A lovely little ripple in the Mass Effect canon that's going to change a lot of things. <3


	6. The Beacon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane and Nihlus disagree over how to deal with Saren. John saves the day, and one of the twins steps a little too close to the beacon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies to those who were expecting this chapter yesterday! I totally forgot Hamilton came out on Disney+ so, my bad! I hope everyone had a lovely 4th of July, and a good normal day for everyone outside the U.S.!

“Shepard! _Dammit_ , get up.” 

She wakes up to red skies and burning green eyes. The faint scent of medi-gel wafts into her nose. Her head aches like someone dropped an anvil on her. She sits up with a sharp inhale, grasping at metal flooring to steady herself. 

“Spirits, Shepard. I wasn’t sure you were getting back up from that one,” Nihlus says. 

She squeezes her eyes to clear her bleary vision, breaking through the fog in her head with a flinch. Is that _concern_ in the Spectre’s voice? Relief, maybe? Definitely not. She’s done but piss the guy off since they met, and right now the feeling is mutual. She’s back in the moment now, indignation rising in her chest. 

“What’d I miss?” she groans. 

“Quite a firefight. That rocket narrowly missed you and the blast knocked you cold,” says Nihlus. 

He reaches to help her up, but the thought of him touching her again prompts a disdainful glare. She bats his hand away and rises to her feet. 

“Don’t you ever, _ever_ put your hands on me again, you hear me?” she says, staring daggers at him. 

His mandibles twitch tightly against his face. “Loud and clear. My... sincere apologies, Commander.” 

“Save it, Spectre,” Jane says. 

She wants to hit him, spit in his face, maybe even send him flying with a biotic blast, but she’s pretty sure assaulting a Spectre would be grounds for serious punishment. She’ll settle for getting as far away from him as she possibly can, the second this mission is finished. John can _have_ the Spectre candidacy if it means she can get a star system or three away from this asshole. 

“Catch me up,” she says. “What happened after I went down?” 

“Geth ambush. Given the evidence at hand, Saren may be working with them. Coordinating them, possibly. I took care of the immediate hostiles. A hefty dose of medi-gel got you up, and here we are.” 

“Thanks,” she grumbles. 

Jane might actually hate him, but he did save her life. Even with her temper and snarky remarks, she’s still a soldier. Duty and obligation come first, no matter how mad she is. She’s stuck with Nihlus for now so she has to attempt something resembling civility, which means acknowledging his help. Letting personal grudges onto the battlefield gets people killed. 

“Are you good to keep moving?” he asks. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s go.” 

It’s a dead silent walk. She keeps an arm’s length from him, lagging her step every time he gets too close. He keeps giving her a glance over his shoulder, and she can’t even begin to read the thought pattern behind it. The man is a damned enigma. Those eyes sear a hole through her own every time she meets them, so she takes to keeping her gaze fastened to the path ahead. 

“Take a look at this,” Nihlus says, directing her attention to a cargo tram. “The interface is still lit, not idle. Saren must have come this way.” 

“Then let’s go,” she says, stepping onto the platform. 

He nods and signals the tram to take off. 

“Shouldn’t we radio the others and let them know where we’re headed?” Jane asks. 

“Negative. Saren may have tapped our communications, and…” 

The sentence drifts off, his view wandering away. 

“And what?” she says, pressing him. 

He sighs. “I know him well. This is sloppy work for his caliber of expertise. The Saren I knew would have disabled the tram. It doesn’t fit his MO,” says Nihlus. 

“Maybe he was counting on no one following him,” says Jane. 

“No... He’s precise, takes no chances. Gets the job done at any cost. This isn’t like him. None of this is,” he says. The last sentence comes out so soft she barely hears it. 

“Whatever the case, he’s going down,” she says. “Can I count on you to do what needs to be done?” 

“I’m with you on this, Shepard. I don’t know what he’s playing at, but the Council needs to hear this. And he should still get a chance to defend his actions. I intend to take him in.” 

“Are you kidding me right now?” she snaps. “The guy just tried to kill you, and actually shot you! Then he sicced a dozen geth on us, and you’re still worried about hearing his side of things?” 

“Commander, there are two things I value above all else. Justice… and loyalty. Whatever Saren is doing, there has to be a reason.” 

She scoffs and crosses her arms. “Right. I’m sure those things are real high on his list of priorities. Talk about your ‘justice’ to these colonists, I’m sure they’ll agree.” 

“Saren may be ruthless, but he isn’t without a moral compass. I need to know what his stake in this is,” Nihlus says, shaking his head. “I’m not counting on him coming peacefully, but I won’t kill him.” 

_But I will, if I have to._ She’s not letting a murderer slip from their grasp, Spectre or not. She doesn’t understand how Nihlus is so calm about this; how he’s still making justifications for a man that just put a gun to the back of his head. She studies his expression from the corner of her eye. His eyes stare aimlessly into the distance and his posture has gone from proud to resigned. A hole in his armor catches her eye, traces of dried blue blood streaked across the plating at his ribs. 

“Nihlus, you’re injured,” she says, mouth agape. 

“I’m fine. Medi-gel stopped the bleeding and it looks worse than it is,” Nihlus says. 

Stubborn bastard. “You should have called for evac. John is a hell of a soldier. He can see this through if we fill him in on the situation.”

“I’ve had worse. It takes a lot more than this to get me out of the fight,” Nihlus says. 

“This is personal now, I take it,” says Jane. 

He cocks his head at her. “Figure that out all on your own, did you?” 

She represses a smile. She’s not giving him the satisfaction. 

The tram slows to a stop. They’re off the platform for less than a minute before a steady beeping catches her ear. A demolition charge looms in a corner. 

“Aw hell!” she says. “That thing is set to go off in less than five minutes, and I’d wager it’s not the only one.” 

Nihlus doesn’t blink, doesn’t flinch, merely gives a soft nod and says, “This is the kind of thing I’d expect from him. The whole place is probably set to blow.” 

“Shit,” she says, kneeling by it and opening the panel. 

“I imagine you’re trained for this?” he asks. 

She nods, setting to work. She curses internally. John is the one that’s good at these things. Tech was never her strong point and she’d gotten her hands shocked more than a few times by dummy bombs in boot camp. 

“I can get it done, but I’m not fast,” she admits. “I don’t know if I can get them all in time.”

“So we split up. I’ll find the next charge and get started. There are likely geth posted to guard these things, so watch yourself,” Nihlus says. 

“Good luck,” she says, poking through the wiring. 

“Likewise, Shepard.” 

An unsaid “don’t get us killed” hangs in the air. One wrong move, one slip of her hand, and it’s a permanent goodnight for all of them. Depending on how many charges there are, this may be enough firepower to take out the entire colony. She’s down to nearly four minutes by the time she finally gets it done. She’s cussing relentlessly under her breath as she looks for the next charge, moving from cover to cover in an attempt to stay out of sight. The sound of a docking tram behind her snaps her to her feet, gun at the ready. 

“John!” she calls. The sight of his face comes as the biggest weight off her chest in nearly a decade. 

“Aw hell,” he breathes, eyes fixed on the charge in front of her. 

“My thoughts exactly. We’ve got less than four minutes. Nihlus is working fast, but we need you to get in there. Geth on the perimeter ahead, bound to take notice of us any second. Do your thing.” 

“I’m on it,” he nods. 

Her brother’s hands move at breakneck speed through the wiring. She’s just begun to set off in search of the next charge when he announces, “Got it. I’ll find the next one.”

_How the everloving fuck does he do that?_

“You’ve got this,” she says, patting his shoulder. 

“Damn right. Go kick ass, sis,” he grins. 

Rushing into the heat of a firefight is much more her speed. Alenko takes out the stragglers that get by her before they have the chance to knock her shields down. She makes damn sure the geth never get a shot anywhere near John or Nihlus. The last geth in the area gets knocked down by the force of her shotgun. 

“That’s for the headache!” she yells, slamming her foot into its face. Metal and glass partially shatter under her boot with a satisfying crunch. 

She wipes sweat from her forehead, smirking as she sweeps her hair out of her face. 

“So the rumors are true,” Alenko says. 

“Didn’t realize my reputation preceded me,” she hums. “What have you heard?” 

“That you’re the deadliest close combat N7 around,” he says. 

She knows how marines talk; he’s holding back. “That’s _all_ they say?” 

The Lieutenant clears his throat and adds, “That, and you tend to smile in a firefight. To be honest, it’s a little alarming.” 

“What can I say? I was a street kid,” she says with a dark chuckle. 

Jane walks away before he has the chance to run with the remark. Sharing an offhand tidbit is one thing, a conversation about the matter is another. 

“John, how are we doing?” she calls. 

“Last charge! And… We’re clear!” 

Her brother stands proudly, a bright grin on his face. “Come on, let’s hear it.” 

“Yeah, yeah, great job. Don’t let it go to your head or anything,” says Jane. 

He gives her a smug smile before the soldier’s poker face sets back in. 

“Good work, everyone. Saren’s got to be heading for that beacon. Let’s step to it,” Nihlus says. 

“So I’ve heard,” John says, pacing toward the Spectre. “There was a dock worker that saw the whole thing. A real coward, but observant.” 

“I see,” Nihlus says flatly. “Then you understand that we need to move quickly.” 

“Right behind you,” he nods. 

* * *

The beacon stands tall in front of them. The sight takes Jane’s breath away; green light emanates from within it and a bright beam stretches into the sky as high as she can see. Quickly overshadowing the awe is the realization that Saren is likely long gone by now. They’d faced more geth, and those inhuman creatures, but their target has vanished into thin air. 

“Normandy, the beacon is secure, requesting immediate evac,” Nihlus says into the comm. 

Alenko and the newcomer are beside John, fawning over the beacon. Jane is caught up with seething over Saren’s escape. She turns to Nihlus, barely containing her outrage. She had the bastard right in her grasp, and Nihlus had given him the chance to escape. _Loyalty,_ he calls it. 

“Saren got away,” she says. 

“Indeed. He always was cunning. The demolition charges were efficient. Blow the colony sky high, or slow us down enough to escape,” Nihlus says. 

She opens her mouth to speak, but Nihlus moves past her and calls out, “Commander, step back from the beacon! We don’t--” 

As he says it, John begins to writhe against some unseen force, sliding into the strange light as if he’s a ship being pulled from space into a planet’s gravity. 

“John!” she calls, running for him. She doesn’t make it in time, and he’s ripped into the air. 

“What in the hell?” she breathes, staring up at him as he hovers, arms spread out. She spends a long moment frozen in shock, until the beacon explodes. Her brother hits the ground at gale force. 

“John!” she cries, taking him into her arms. Military training kicks in, and she’s testing his vital signs, letting out a sharp breath as she finds them. She shakes him, to no avail. “He’s alive, but out cold.” 

Nihlus kneels by the two of them and radios, “Normandy, we have a man down. Vitals stable. Target has been damaged.” He turns back to Jane and says, “This mission has officially failed, Shepard. The Council won’t be happy about this.” 

“To hell with the Council. We’ve got bigger problems at hand.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm guilty of having this fic be a little FemShep-centric, so sorry to all you MShep stans! Don't worry, John will have plenty of his own chapters and a very important role in the whole thing


	7. The Apology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane and Nihlus share a tender moment, leaving her feeling conflicted. He makes her an offer she can't refuse.

_ Damn the intricacies of armor _ . 

Jane snaps each piece off clumsily, unclasping buckles and breaking each interlocked piece free as fast as she can. 

“Fuck!” she hisses as her fingers get pinched between two tightly fitted plates. 

Her skin crawls with the feeling of heads turning her way, but she needs out of her armor this instant. She works her way down her body, sighing heavily when the last piece finally comes off. Her undersuit is still slick with sweat; a chief element of any hard-fought battle. She tucks the grimy armor into her locker, retrieves her Alliance fatigues, and makes her way for the showers. She can clean her gear later.

The allotted three minutes of water is absolute heaven, lukewarm or not. Dirt and hints of blood in her hair stain the water pooling at her feet. She works the scentless soap against tense muscles, wincing when her fingers press into tender flesh. She surveys her shoulders with a scowl. The spray glistens on her cheeks as she gathers a sense of the damage. Each shoulder is marred by marbled bruises, erratically placed and misshapen from her armor’s best efforts to protect her. Red and brown intermingle with deeper black and purple areas, patterned across her skin like a ghastly art piece. She shudders at the sight, blood boiling beneath her flesh. Bruises don’t garner much, if any, attention after combat but these are unmistakably caused by turian hands. She rinses the soap away and exits the shower stall before the water cuts off. By sheer miracle, the shared bathroom is empty for the moment. She towels dry, and shrugs her pants and boots on hastily. This is her chance to cover the damage up before anyone can question the sight. It’s a futile attempt. 

Nihlus enters the room like a storm cloud rolling over peaceful skies. The air around her stills as the moment’s tension presses at her lungs. He’s out of his armor and the black undersuit has been partially cut away in favor of bandages wrapped tightly around his waist. The fabric clings to his body, highlighting multitudes of foreign contours and jutting bone structure. He looks so much smaller in every way, free of bulky metal and visibly weighed down by his thoughts. His posture is that of a man beaten to the ground, resigned to a bitter defeat. The vulnerability radiating off of him hits her all at once. She’s been seeing Nihlus the Spectre, and this is her first glimpse of Nihlus the person. He’s wounded, betrayed, tired. 

She flounders when he takes notice of her. He’d clearly thought he was alone, because he seems as utterly caught off-guard as she does. Feeling very exposed in her tank top, she puts her hands up to cover the bruises splayed across her shoulders. The motion does more harm than good, drawing his view right to the marks she’s trying hard to conceal. 

“I was just headed out, no worries,” she says, stepping past him. 

His gaze follows her and her step falters to a standstill, locked under his immense presence. His eyes have lost their cold ferocity, now wide and contrite. 

“Let me see,” he says. 

It comes out as more of a question than a demand. She wasn’t prepared for the gentle tone to his voice. The sound softens her resolve. She suppresses a shiver as she lets her hands fall to her sides, baring her wounds to him. His mandibles flare and his mouth hangs aghast. 

He lets out a soft gasp of, “Spirits.” 

She squirms at the visceral situation. It’s the perfect opportunity to give him hell. She could lay it all on him and get the anger off her chest… but she can’t bring herself to say it. He’s left himself wide open and she can’t take the shot. 

“Shepard, I didn’t realize…” 

“It’s fine,” Jane says tersely. 

“It’s not,” Nihlus says, meeting her eyes. 

A long silence rests heavily between them, loaded enough that she could scream. 

“No,” she sighs. “It’s not.” 

Nihlus shakes his head. “I forget humans are so… _ ahem _ ...delicate. I had no idea I could bruise you through your armor.” 

“You weren’t exactly gentle,” she says, scowling up at him. 

“I know. Commander, I’m s--” 

She can’t let him apologize. His earnest voice and the remorse in his eyes stirs forgiveness from deep within her, but she’s not ready to stop being angry with him. It’s too much, too soon. She cuts him off before he has the chance to say it. 

“Just. Just don’t,” she snaps, shrugging her overshirt on. 

She leaves him there in stunned silence and beelines for the medbay to check on her brother again. In these untested waters, she needs him at her side. Where her every thought comes as a sharp edge, clumsy and wrought with turmoil, John’s words carry an easy grace that soothes over everything he touches. From a ticking bomb to an irate sister, his true talent lies in diffusing heated situations. After the day she’s had, she sorely needs a little of his wisdom. 

Chakwas is seated at her terminal, her hands flitting across the keys as she types. 

“Something you need, Commander?” the doctor asks. 

“Nothing in particular. How is he?” 

Chakwas stands to put a hand on her shoulder. The touch stings, but Jane keeps a straight face. 

“He’s alright. I’m keeping a close eye on him,” Chakwas reassures.

“Any clue when he’ll wake up?” she asks. 

“There’s no telling. It could be any minute, or it could take several hours,” says Chakwas. 

Jane nods and asks, “I’d like to be here with him when he does. Can I sit with him for a while?” 

The doctor smiles softly. “Of course. I wouldn’t dream of keeping you from your brother. I’ll be here if you need anything.” 

“Thanks, doc.” 

Jane climbs onto the table across from her brother. His serene countenance eases some of her worries. She hasn’t seen his face so relaxed in ages, devoid of all expression. She tucks her legs up to her body and opens her omni-tool. She doubts he can hear her, but talking to him comes naturally. 

“I see how it is,” she chuckles. “You get to have a nice long nap while I’m stuck filing a report for a failed mission.” 

The quiet of the medbay against the soft hum of the Normandy’s engines is a welcome respite. She starts typing up her report, chewing the inside of her lip as she mulls over the best way to word everything. It’s a pain, running over the whole thing detail by detail, reliving each bitter minute. 

“God, John… I don’t even know where to begin. There wasn’t a single thing that didn’t go wrong down there,” she says with a sigh. 

She works one sentence at a time, detailing the enemy resistance and incident with Saren. It’s a slow process of backspacing large chunks of text only to rewrite them out the same way all over again. What feels like hours later, she’s almost finished. Nihlus comes walking in, armor-clad and stoic once again. Her defenses rise, ready to deflect anything he throws at her. 

“Captain Anderson said I’d find you here. How’s your brother?” he says. 

His tone carries a strictly professional level of friendliness, vacant of the vulnerability she’d seen in the showers. 

“He’s fine. What do you want, Nihlus?” Jane says. 

She keeps her eyes fixed to her omni-tool, refusing to look at him.

“I need a moment of your time,” he says flatly. “We have a few things to discuss.” 

God, she hates that vague manner of his. Having glimpsed a different side of him, she wonders if it's a professional choice or a personal one. 

“I’m listening.” 

“In private, Commander.” 

She sighs, saves her report, and hops off the table. 

“The mess should be quiet at this hour,” she says. 

He nods and gestures for her to lead. She hopes to high heaven that he has professional matters on his mind, because she might just lose it on him otherwise. Still, she’s eager to get some distance from that damned report. 

She sits across from him, using the table to keep a fair distance between the two of them. 

“I need to get this report finished, so make it quick,” Jane says. 

“Quite the patient type, are you?” Nihlus says, narrowing his eyes at her. 

“Is that a problem, Spectre?” she asks rhetorically. 

“No. I imagine you’ll have the opportunity to learn,” he says. 

Her eyebrows squeeze together curiously, wondering what he’s getting at. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Shepard, I’m putting your name down as my official choice for the Spectre position,” Nihlus says, leaning back into his seat. 

She all but chokes on her own breath. It’s the last thing she’d expected to hear from him. 

“I--wait. Why? All you did down there was question my methods...among other things.” 

“I could argue the same about you. Which leads me to my next concern… I owe you an apology,” he says. “Things got heated down there. I let my personal feelings cloud my judgement, and you paid the price. Whatever my past with Saren may be, you saved my life. That isn’t something I take lightly, and it’s a debt I intend to repay if you’ll allow me to.” 

She holds fast to the anger a moment longer, and finally lets it slip from her hands with his words. Regardless, she’s still skeptical. 

“So what, you’re offering me one of the most esteemed positions in the galaxy because you feel guilty? Because you think you owe me?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“No,” he says, staring hard at her, “While there is some truth to the statement, it’s not so simple. I’m making a case for your candidacy because you’ve proven to me that you have what it takes.” 

“Explain,” she says. 

She leans forward, resting her chin on her fists. 

“Spectres need to be strong leaders, intuitive individuals, and quick thinkers. Our work demands that we be able to establish hard lines and trust our instincts. I’ll be the first to admit, you surpassed me in that regard today. You saw through Saren when I failed to and you didn’t hesitate to act.” 

The explanation only opens the door to a hundred more questions. He’s making things too easy, and it doesn’t feel right. She argues, “You barely know me. What about John? It doesn’t seem fair to pick me after a single mission, without even giving him a second glance. He’s every bit the skilled soldier I am.” 

“I’m not concerned with fairness. It may have only been one mission, but it was a defining one. I’ve evaluated plenty of potential Spectres in my career, so I’m able to pick out the qualities we need rather quickly. It’s worth mentioning that you’re the first individual that has impressed me enough to reach the next step.” 

“What if I refuse?” she asks, crossing her arms. 

“That would be unfortunate. If that were the case, I would continue to assess your brother’s abilities. But I’m confident you’re the one we really need. You show no fear and stop at nothing to get the job done. I wasn’t looking for a good soldier, I was looking for a particular set of traits.” 

“And you really believe that’s me?” 

“Without a doubt. You have a certain... tenacity. In a way, you remind me of myself when I was young. Tell me, have you ever felt like the Alliance’s authority holds you back? Like you sacrifice your independence for your service?” he asks. 

There’s a sharp note to his voice; a dark gleam in his eye. His words reach to the scrappy street rat in her. The renegade kid she locked away so long ago now screams to be let out of her cage. 

“I’m committed to the Alliance,” she says tightly. 

“I don’t doubt that, Shepard. You’ve been undeniably loyal to Captain Anderson for some time. But that’s not what I asked,” he says. 

Damn it. He’s determined to tear the answer out of her, rattling the keys against her shackles. She didn’t choose the Alliance, they chose her. She’d given up a large part of herself in learning to conform. There have been days she’s taken bad orders, done everything her superiors asked, even when it tore her apart inside. In return, they’d given her a place to belong; a roof over her head, food on the table, something to call her own. She’s buried her resentment for military authority deep, and now Nihlus is digging it up. 

“Yes,” she whispers. “I’m not… I’m tired of the red tape.” 

“Good. I’m giving you the chance to break those chains; to become an agent of justice, free to act as you see fit,” Nihlus says. 

This is where the wagers with her and John always take her. She runs at the goal for the sake of winning, and she never stops to ask where victory leads. She’s hanging on Nihlus’ every word now, eyeing the seductive freedom of the Spectres with a hunger she hasn’t felt in years. She jumps for the real question on the table. 

“What comes next?” 

“The Council will conduct an interview. I’ll present your strengths, and they’ll make their decision,” says Nihlus. 

“So there’s the obvious chance they’ll say no,” she says. 

His mandibles tuck tightly to his face, the high position bringing an upward curl to his mouth. She’s almost certain the expression is a smile. 

“I can be very persuasive,” he says. 

“Okay,” she says, taking a deep breath. “I’m in. And… Nihlus? I accept your apology.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooray for relationship development! Poor John got himself excluded from this chapter, so the next one is all his


	8. The Vision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John struggles to understand the beacon's message, and Nihlus is determined to find out the truth behind Saren's betrayal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prologue for this felt a little redundant, so I cut it. So it's chapter 8 again, but it's a *different* chapter 8. Bear with me, people! <3

He breaches the darkness with a shiver and a groaned, “Jane?” 

The muted hum of a drive core situates him into his surroundings. There’s red hair in his peripheral, the sterile smell of a medbay, a hand on his shoulder. 

“Hey there,” his sister says, moving into his view. Her hand stays steady on his shoulder as she slides to face him. 

He rubs his head, still drowsy and aching.

“Ugh. How long was I out?” 

Doctor Chakwas strides over. “About fifteen hours. How are you feeling, Shepard?” 

He makes a soft “Mmm…” and does a mental status check. The majority of his body, especially his head, is throbbing like he’s been hit by a train. His vision is blurry at the edges from being out so long. The one bright side he can find is that the usual full-body fatigue from strenuous biotic use has had time to dissipate. He rubs his eyes and stretches his neck, grasping for a hold on reality. 

“Like the morning after shore leave,” John says, squinting. 

He pieces together the events one by one, ending with being ripped into the air by a vicious gravity-defying field. 

“What happened with the beacon?” he asks.

“It...blew up,” Jane says with a wince. “A system overload, I think. It knocked you right out.” 

This is gonna make one hell of a miserable report. He can picture it now, “ _Yes, sir, I walked right up to the 50,000 year old tech like a rookie on his first mission, and whaddya know? It exploded!”_

He puts his head in his hands. “Damn it. I should have kept my distance. I must have activated it somehow.” 

He screwed this up bad. All eyes are going to be on him, and not in a favorable light. Destroying priceless artifacts like that isn’t going to win him positive regard in the Alliance or with the Citadel Council. Forget joining the Spectres, in fact, he’ll probably face a disciplinary hearing for his recklessness. He’d lost his composure after watching Jenkins die, and now they’re all paying for it. 

As always, Jane is right there when he starts to slip too deep down the rabbit hole. 

“Hey,” she says softly, “I’m just glad you’re okay. That blast could have killed you.” 

“And we don’t even know if that’s what set it off, Commander,” says Chakwas. 

John shakes his head bitterly. “And now we never will.”

“What’s done is done, I’m afraid. You were lucky. Physically, you’re fine,” says Chakwas. 

“I’m sensing a ‘but’ coming?” he asks. 

“Quite. I noticed some abnormal beta waves, and an increase in rapid eye movement. Signs typically associated with intense dreaming.” 

It comes rushing back to him in waves; horrific images, death and destruction, screams of agony, voices biting at his ears. His nightmares have been frequent and detailed for years, but this surpasses them. It’s all fragmented images and whispered words of warning from a civilization long dead.

“I saw...war,” he says. “I--I’m not sure what to make of it. It was like a warning. None of it is really clear.” 

“I’d better add this to my report, it may--oh, Captain Anderson, Nihlus.” 

Jane is seated next him now, hovering protectively close. John’s first instinct is to stand at attention to salute the Captain, but he feels unsteady; weighed down so hard he’s unsure the world can even support his footing right now. He settles for a respectful nod. 

“How’s he holding up, Doctor?” Anderson asks. 

“All the readings look normal. I’d say he’s going to be fine.” 

“Glad to hear it. Nihlus and I need to see the Commander in private,” says Anderson. 

Chakwas nods and takes her leave. John takes the opportunity to stand on shaky legs, clenching his teeth as he establishes his posture and salutes properly. Jane squeezes his hand and nods reassuringly before following. There’s no mistaking the sideways glance she gives him from the doorway; she knows something he doesn’t. 

Nihlus crosses his arms and says, “I’m glad to see you’re unharmed. However, I won’t lie, things aren’t looking good. Between the casualties, a geth invasion, and the destruction of that beacon, it’s a bad day for everyone. The Council is going to want answers.”

He takes a deep breath. “I don’t like soldiers dying under my command, sir. We had no idea what we were walking into… But I was unfocused after losing Jenkins. I take full responsibility for the destruction of the beacon. I should have been more careful.” 

“That’s very noble, Shepard. While it is a tragedy, there are far more important matters at hand. I advise that your statement to the Council reflects that. And rest assured, the young Corporal will be honored when there’s time,” Nihlus says. 

“I appreciate that, sir,” John says, hanging his head low. “

“Jenkins was a good kid. But it wasn’t your fault,” Anderson says. “You did a good job down there.” 

“What about Gunnery Chief Williams?” he asks. “Did we leave her down there?” 

“No. I’ve formally offered her a position on my crew. Surviving that attack took skill and guts. I always have a place for a soldier like that,” Anderson says. 

“I’m glad to hear that. She performed admirably under fire and adapted to the situation very well.” 

Anderson wrings his hands for a moment and says, “Commander, nobody could have predicted this. But that’s not why we’re here. It’s Saren.” 

Nihlus tenses at the subject, starting to pace in short steps. “The evidence is clear; Saren’s working with the Geth, and he’s committed enough to have made an attempt on my life. Any rogue Spectre is a threat, but Saren… his methods are ruthless, and he’ll stop at nothing to reach his goal,” the Spectre says. 

“You know him, Captain?” John asks. 

“Yes. It’s a story for another time. Suffice it to say, he’s dangerous and he hates humans,” Anderson says. 

“He didn’t come to Eden Prime out of mere racism. This attack was coordinated and strategic. There’s more to this,” says John. 

“I agree, Shepard. How he’s managed to ally with the geth is beyond any answers I can offer, but I know he has a bigger stake in this. With his resources, he must have known about this mission, and he intended to get the beacon first,” says Nihlus. 

“Did the beacon give you any information, any clue as to what he was pursuing?” Anderson asks. 

John leans back against the table to steady himself. He keeps his eyes fixed to his own boots. He deliberates over how to word it. The vision itself is a staggering kaleidoscope of mismatched information, like a poem pieced together from excerpts of a hundred different passages. The intention is clear, but the message is indeterminable. 

“I had some kind of vision. I saw synthetics, maybe geth... Slaughtering people, butchering them. But there was more. There’s something I’m missing,” he says. 

“We need to report this to the Council, Shepard,” says Anderson. 

“No,” Nihlus says, pacing once again. “They won’t like it. They only care about concrete evidence. If we can’t provide them hard facts, they’re likely to disregard the entire case. We’re already on shaky footing in returning empty-handed.” 

“But--” 

“Shepard, please. I’ve dealt with the Council for a very long time. They’ll dismiss your claims as nothing more than a bad dream, and it could jeopardize the entire argument,” Nihlus says. 

“Do you share that sentiment, Nihlus?” John asks. 

The turian meets his eyes, pausing for thought before finally saying, “I’m not sure. Prothean technology is complex, so I don’t disbelieve it. But I’m more inclined to trust logic and plain evidence. Your limited interpretation of its information is a concern, I admit. My main priority is ensuring that the Council takes Saren’s corruption seriously.” 

“We simply don’t know what information was stored in that beacon. Lost technology, blueprints for some ancient weapon of mass destruction, it could be anything. Whatever it was, Saren took it. I know his reputation, his politics. He believes humans are a blight on the galaxy. This attack was an act of war!” Anderson says. 

Nihlus raises a hand to interrupt, and says, “We don’t have enough intel to make that assessment, Captain Anderson. I understand you have a history with him, but I owe Saren my entire career. He taught me everything I know. His feelings about your kind are set in a very old, very bitter grudge. I don’t agree with it, but the Saren I know isn’t a monster. He became a Spectre in the first place because he believed in galactic justice. He owes me some answers.” 

Something deep inside of John snaps. “People died down there! Innocent civilians that never asked for this! They were turned into... _husks_ and slaughtered mercilessly! Do you even care?” 

Nihlus narrows his eyes. “Shepard, don’t mistake my loyalty for apathy. I was betrayed by a _friend_ today, and I’d rather get real answers than make rash assumptions. I assure you, Saren has a lot to explain and I don’t intend to let him get away with any of this. He will pay for these lost lives, but we need to play this carefully. There’s a lot of politics involved.” 

“Which is why we need the Council on our side. As a Spectre, Saren can go anywhere, do almost anything.” 

“So we prove he’s gone rogue and get them to revoke his status,” says John. 

“Unfortunately, it’s his word against ours at the moment,” Nihlus sighs. “This puts me in a very uncomfortable position, and I don’t expect to see results immediately.” 

“We should arrive at the Citadel soon. Take some time to collect yourself, and then head up to the bridge.” 

“Aye aye, sir.” 

He’d stepped onto the Normandy with a bright outlook forward, and it’s all crumbled underneath him. 

Nihlus stops John in the door. “There is one more thing, Commander. I advise you to speak with your sister.” 

John cocks his head in confusion. “Is there something I should know?” 

“I won’t say anymore, Shepard.” There’s _almost_ a laugh to his tone as he adds, “I’m fairly certain her patience with me would run out entirely if I did.” 

John says a silent prayer before stepping out the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit short compared to the others, but this is where it demanded to end, and I'm merely a vessel to this story by now. More coming soon :D


	9. The Citadel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John touches base with Jane and reflects on his past. The Normandy arrives at the Citadel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY finished this chapter, oof. This one gave me a hard time because John is a stubborn boy that doesn't always want to talk to me.

The vainglorious smirk on Jane’s face tells him everything he needs to know. 

“Oh, do  _ not  _ say ‘pay up’,” he says, feigning surprise. 

Her eyes are bright with conquest as her lips spread into a grin. “I’ll let you simmer a little longer before I demand my payload.” 

He chuckles and claps her on the shoulder. “I suppose congratulations are in order. You totally cheated, you know.” 

“Have you ever known me to play fair?” says Jane. 

“Not even once. But you couldn’t have dragged it out, let me feel like I had a chance?” he says. 

“Over a chance like this? Hell no,” Jane says, crossing her arms smugly. 

Looking back, she’d won before it had even begun. He’d faded into the background amid the peculiar mindgame she and Nihlus seemed to be playing. The two of them were locked in a primal power struggle the moment they set eyes on one another, like fate had set them up for some star-crossed dance for the upper hand. He never had a chance. 

He can’t bring himself to be disappointed. If half of what that dock worker said was true, she’d been twice the soldier he was down there. She has a knack for pulling people from the precipice of certain death; a skill he’s never been able to grasp for himself. She’s a savior while he’s merely a survivor. More than anything, he’s proud of her.

He does his best not to let his insecurity show. This is her moment, and he’s not going to make it about himself. 

“I always knew you’d find some way to outshine me. Saving a Spectre’s life just happened to be the way to do it,” John says. 

Her demeanor shifts, the smile falling from her face. Her shoulders sink and she runs a hand through her hair. The sudden drop of her countenance makes him wonder if her cockiness at winning their wager was just bravado. 

“Heard about that, did you?” she says.

“Something wrong?” John asks. 

She shakes her head a bit too quick, a familiar tell. 

“It’s nothing.” 

“Jane, come on.” 

Her arm crosses her body to grip her shoulder. She shakes her head again, eyes cast downward. 

“I’d really rather not get into it. Suffice it to say things weren’t pretty down there,” she says. 

“No… They really weren’t,” he sighs. 

She looks back up at him, eyes softened by sincerity. 

“I’m really sorry about Jenkins. How are you holding up?” 

John shifts his weight from foot to foot. The tenderness in her voice brings back memories of dark days spent in recovery, both mental and physical. She’d been there, gripping his sweaty hands to pull him back from the precipice of nightmares, brewing tea and whispering words of hollow comfort. She’d hovered around through long hours of him staring at the walls... 

He shoves the memories down and says, “I’m fine. We all know what can happen when we enlist.” 

“Hey,” she says, grabbing his shoulder. “You and I both know that doesn’t make it better. You can preach that line to these guys all you want, but I’m your sister. I know when you’re lying.” 

“That goes both ways, you know,” he counters. 

Jane lets out a heavy sigh and pulls her shirt collar to the side, revealing the scant edge of a nasty bruise. He only glimpses it for a moment before she tucks it away again and says, “Turns out, turians are strong as fuck. Or at least...Nihlus is.” 

His eyes widen as he processes the information. His first instinct is to haul ass to go kill the guy for putting a hand on his sister, but if she hasn’t already done it, then there’s either a very,  _ very  _ good explanation or Nihlus can make one hell of an apology. Either way, Jane has never needed or wanted him to protect her, try as he might. Still, he’s aghast that the Spectre dared to hurt her. With anyone else, a sympathetic response would be appropriate, but Jane has never been keen on pity. It raises a hundred questions in his mind. 

_ What the hell happened down there? _

“Did he do this on purpose?” he asks, voice low. 

“No. Not...not exactly. He kind of freaked out when I jumped Saren, and things got heated,” Jane says. 

“Some misunderstanding. Has he apologized?” 

The corner of her mouth twitches, almost into a smile. She’s eerily calm about it. 

“Yeah. I let him stew in it for a while,” she says. 

“Don’t tell me you guilted your way into the Spectres,” he jokes, trying to lighten the mood. 

Her laugh takes the pressure off his chest. It’s an airy, bubbling sound. 

“No, of course not. He did seem to feel pretty bad about it, though. I might remind him if he gets testy any time soon.” 

_ There she is.  _

John smiles back at her and pulls her tight to him. She lets out a soft “oof,” squirming for a moment before resigning to the hug. 

He kisses the top of her head and says, “I’m proud of you, sis.” 

“Thanks,” she hums, and wriggles out of his arms. “Now rein in the sappiness or people will get weird about it.” 

“Pff, you mean  _ you _ get weird about it. Relax,” he says, chuckling. 

“Whatever, huggy bear. I’m gonna go clean my gear. Oh--and Gunnery Chief Williams wants to talk to you when you have a chance,” Jane says as she strides off. 

“Good, I was just about to go check in with her and Lieutenant Alenko.” 

“Stay out of trouble,” she says.

He swears she winked before the elevator door slid closed. 

The room goes cold around him when she’s gone. Just like that, he’s left alone in the shadow of his own defeat. He’s spent the last six years falling in line behind his sister. He watches as she carries others through the fire, while he has to watch his comrades be consumed by the flames. The survivor of Akuze and the hero of Elysium; thrust into the same beginnings, but walking such disparate paths. They share the same DNA, the same history, the same strong blood, but she’s proven herself the victor at every turn. Nihlus made the right choice. If anyone is built to protect the galaxy at any cost, it’s her. Destiny set its eyes upon them a long time ago, and he failed its test. Jenkins is a bitter reminder of how much he still has to learn. If it had been him at Nihlus’ side, he’s almost positive he’d be dead. 

He sits down at the mess table and takes a moment to pray, calling out to cosmic forces to safeguard Jenkins’ soul and to provide answers for the torment of his own. What lesson is the universe trying so hard to teach him? What fundamental truth is he missing, that his path has been so calamitous? 

He sits alone, reaching out in blind faith for several long minutes. Lieutenant Alenko pulls him out of his head with the sound of a chair squeaking against the floor. 

“Sorry, Commander. Didn’t mean to disturb you,” he says. 

Kaidan sits stiffly in his seat, chewing on a ration bar. 

“No worries,” John says. “Just taking a few moments to reflect. I wanted to talk to you, actually.” 

“Anything in particular, sir?” Kaidan asks. 

The Lieutenant’s eyes are a warm honey tone in the light and the shadows fall across his face in a way that caresses his finer features. Looking at him properly, John is reminded of how much he hates the Alliance’s “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy. Any other place, any other time, and he’d eat the guy alive. But this isn’t the life for that kind of thing, so he puts on a straight face and sticks to the professionalism he’s adapted to. 

“Not really. I just wanted to check in with you. Any thoughts you’d like to share?” 

“Well, I’m glad to see you’re okay. Losing Jenkins is...hard on the crew. I’m glad we didn’t lose you too,” Kaidan says. 

“Yeah,” John sighs. “Things were pretty rough down there.” 

“You just never get used to seeing dead civilians. At least we stopped Saren from wiping out the whole colony. I still can’t believe we lost Jenkins,” says Kaidan. 

“We’re soldiers. We’re taught to expect the worst from day one,” John says. 

“I know that. But I don’t have to like it, and it doesn’t make it any easier,” Kaidan says, crumpling the wrapper into a tight ball in his hand. “Some shakedown cruise. Our first mission ends with one Spectre trying to kill another. We’re lucky we didn’t lose Nihlus too.” 

“There was nothing we could have done to save Jenkins. As for Nihlus…  _ heh,  _ luck had nothing to do with that. Saren picked the wrong fight, getting in my sister’s way.” 

“You Shepards don’t screw around, that much is for sure. If I may, is it weird serving aboard the same ship?” Kaidan asks. “The Alliance doesn’t make a habit of assigning family together.”

“A little. We went on a few missions together back in the day, but up until now, we’ve had our own posts. Gotta admit, it’s good to see her,” John says. 

“You’re both legends, you know. I mean, it takes a special kind of strength to survive what you did on Akuze.” 

John bristles at the topic; an ever-present thorn in his side. 

“I don’t see what all the fuss is about. Refusing to die with the rest of my unit doesn’t make me a hero, it just means I’m stubborn. If everyone got a medal for staying alive… well, you get the point.” 

Kaidan crosses his arms and leans back into his seat, raising an eyebrow. “Bit of a sore spot, Commander?” 

“You could say that. I should go.” 

He chews the inside of his lip all the way to the bridge, chiding himself for letting bitterness get the best of him. 

“Good timing, Commander, I was just about to bring us into the Citadel. See that taxpayer money at work,” Joker says. 

Jane’s delicate features shift into a simper as she looks to the window. 

“Looks like it’s tourist season for us,” she says. 

Palpable anticipation fills the bridge as a handful of crew members shuffle in, their eyes bright and curious. The ship glides through the nebula, clouds of gas and dust buildup whiz by at light speed, slowing as they make their approach. Time to see what all the hype is about. 

The dramatic sight takes the breath right out of his lungs. The immense station gleams with artificial sunlight, illuminating the skies around it into a wash of bright pastel hues. The network of glittering lights lining each of the station’s arms makes his world feel miniscule, reminding him of the first time he’d seen his home city from orbit. Looking at the place from a distance provides a stiff dose of humility. 

Gunnery Chief Williams rushes to the window. Ah shit. He completely forgot to talk to her before coming up here. Maybe it’s for the best; he wouldn’t have missed this sight for the world. John listens quietly as the others chatter. He can’t find the words to convey the awe deep in his chest. Even Jane looks mystified, uncharacteristically silent as Kaidan, Ashley, and Joker talk about the Destiny Ascension. 

“Wow,” she breathes. 

“Yeah. Sometimes you forget what a big galaxy we live in.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something that always bothered me about the canon is how Sole Survivor Shepard always seemed pretty unfazed by people bringing up Akuze all the time, so this is a little remedy to that and some PTSD representation. A near-death experience like that would leave somebody with a lot of issues and survivor's guilt, so I'm trying to give some insight to that side of things. Poor John is such a soft soul, so it really messed him up.


	10. The Rendezvous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nihlus convinces Udina to do things his way, and the Shepards get a day of shore leave.

Watching Nihlus and Ambassador Udina argue might just be the most entertaining thing she’s seen in years. Udina’s hand gestures have devolved into a near-wild flailing of his arms, and there’s a vein in his forehead that’s liable to burst at any moment. Despite the troubling source of the conflict, it’s hard to keep from laughing, _just a little_. Anderson had found himself pushed to the wayside in the conversation, having made his case rather emphatically already. It’s far too much political dick-waving for her taste, but it is fun to watch. 

Nihlus ultimately lets out a heavy sigh, and says, “Ambassador, we’re talking in circles here! I agree, addressing this attack is a priority, but a case like this requires a delicate hand. Saren is smart enough to have covered his tracks, so evidence will likely be scarce. We need every shred of evidence we can get. I’m simply asking you to hold off for one day while C-Sec wraps up their investigation.” 

Udina raises a hand and starts off on another long-winded rant about “bureaucratic nightmares” and humanity being treated as second-class citizens. She hopes he’s just having a bad day, because otherwise, the human race has a pretty unhinged representative. 

Nihlus straightens his posture and says, “Unless of course, you _don’t_ want me to take the opportunity to submit my report regarding my choice for humanity’s first Spectre…” 

_Damn._ He really doesn’t screw around. There’s no apparent malice in the statement; in fact, his voice is nonchalant, almost bored. The idle threat works nearly too well, because Udina’s face freezes into a priceless expression of utter shock, mouth hanging slack and his eyebrows raised. 

It takes a good few seconds for the ambassador to wipe the look off his face and speak. 

“I see you’ve made your decision then. That was...faster than I expected. But! Humanity has waited long enough to be recognized by The Council and the Spectres.” 

“Indeed,” Nihlus says flatly. “So it’s decided. We take a day to let C-Sec go about their business, and I’ll get things finalized with Shepard’s candidacy.” 

“Very well, but--” 

“Good day, Ambassador.”

A snicker slips out of her nose, earning her a sour look from Udina. She gives an apologetic half-grin and falls in line behind Nihlus and Anderson, her brother and Ashley close at her heels. 

“Honestly, that went better than I expected,” Anderson says. 

“Yes... your Ambassador is certainly one to speak his mind, isn’t he?” Nihlus says. “Now, I have a report to turn in and subsequently, a decisive meeting with The Council.” 

Her nerves flutter up into her throat. Even in the wake of the attack on Eden Prime, this is happening. This is real. She just might be the first human Spectre. It’s odd, knowing this stoic turian is about to spend his day fighting for her right to rise up in the world. It’s the first time she’s felt the weight of someone truly believing in her since Anderson first made her his XO on the Tokyo. It’s a lot to process. 

She watches Nihlus walk away, quietly admiring his steady, rhythmic stride. 

She turns to Anderson. “What are our orders for today, sir?” 

Anderson responds with a slight chuckle and says, “Shore leave, Commander. Take the day to rest up. Check into a hotel, see the sights.” 

“Thank you, Captain,” Jane hums. 

“You two have earned it. We have an awfully long day ahead of us tomorrow.” 

“What about you, Anderson?” John asks. “Any plans?” 

“No rest for the weary, I’m afraid,” he says, shrugging. “But don’t concern yourself with it. I’ll see you two bright and early tomorrow morning.” 

John nods to himself as Anderson takes his leave. His hands worry at his shirt hemline idly. 

“What’s the matter, Johnny boy?” Jane teases. “Afraid of a hot meal and a little fun?” 

“Hell no. Just feeling a little lost, I suppose…” 

“I hear that,” Ashley pipes up. “Strangers in a strange land and all.” 

“Don’t worry. I’m sure I can find us some trouble to get into,” Jane says. “After all, I believe John owes me some money.” 

“I was afraid you’d say that,” her brother says. His tone is dead-serious, but there’s a smile creeping up his face. 

* * *

The placid silence of an empty hotel room makes her skin crawl. Without the steady white noise of a drive core, her thoughts are too loud. Her busy mind is bouncing from wall to wall, gnawing at the fringes of her skull. To be fair, it’s a nice hotel; quaint and hospitable. The color palate is a clean off-white mingled with blacks and blues, and a faint floral scent lingers in the air. The pillowy bed alone is a damned luxury compared to what she’s used to. Yet, places like this always get under her skin. It has her reminiscing about the run-down motels she and John spent the majority of their adolescence in; the kind of establishments that charged by the hour, settled in the bare bones of near-crumbling buildings. Their thin walls provided no peace from the constant disarray of those forgotten streets, swarms of bodies running to or away from something, _loudly._ She never realizes how used to idle sound she is until she’s alone in a hotel like this. These places are so quiet and clean that it feels like she’s not allowed to touch anything, or even breathe too noisily. 

The last few hours of browsing the extranet have been mind-numbing. She finds herself pacing; waiting around for something, _anything._ John had gone off to explore the Presidium, and in retrospect, she should have joined him. Looky-loo tourism isn’t her thing, but it would sure beat puttering around these four walls. 

Her omni-tool pings, startling her a bit. 

_“Matters to discuss. Meet me at Flux in half an hour -NK, ST &R.” _

“There’s that vagueness again,” she grumbles. 

Nihlus may not be the liveliest of company, but it’s something to do. Most importantly, it might mean she finally has her answer from The Council. She sighs a soft hum and types back a reply. 

_“Dress code?”_

She waits a few moments for a response, toying a strand of her hair between her fingers. A chill is slinking up her spine as she anticipates the variables. What if the Council rejected his proposal? Even more nerve-wracking, what if they accepted? These are untested waters, with unknown perils lurking yet unseen. As badly as she wants this, she has no idea what to expect. Stranger in a strange land, indeed… 

Her omni-tool pings again. 

_“It’s a nightclub, Shepard. Do with that what you will.”_

She lets out a soft snicker. Real helpful, pal. She thinks it over and ultimately decides her jeans will have to be good enough. It'll be a cold day in hell before she squeezes herself into a dress and heels. The dress blues from earlier were enough wardrobe torment for one day. 

The half-hour turns out to be a near-perfect estimate of how long it takes to reach the club. Between getting dressed, hailing a cab, and navigating through the bustling atmosphere of Aroch ward, she was perfectly on time. That is, until a _very_ enthusiastic fan pinned her down for an autograph. 

The club is bustling with loud music, drunken laughter, dancing figures, and the reek of alcohol. It’s a step above the seedy joints she often finds herself in, given the lack of strippers and sticky floors. It’d be a pretty nice place if the music wasn’t so dreadful. 

“Hey, hey, honeeey. Looking a lit--little lost there,” a man slurs, his face flushed and slick with sweat. 

He’s barely holding onto his glass and his blond hair is falling into his eyes. He’s standing close enough that she can smell his breath. 

“And you’re looking a little wasted,” she says, peering past his shoulder to scan the crowd for Nihlus. He’s tall enough that she can’t see the tables clearly.

“Aw, what’s the rush, baby girl? Could be your lucky night.” 

“Well, it’s definitely not yours,” she spits out. 

“Oooooooh, feisty,” he drawls. 

It’s a little too early in the night to punch this guy in his slack face, she decides, after sizing him up. He’s so far gone that a solid hit might knock him right out. Best not to cause a scene...yet. 

“Get lost, pal,” she says, shoving him aside and making her way to the bar. 

Nihlus’ eyes catch hers from a dark booth in the corner of the room. She watches his gaze flick down her figure and back up, mandibles twitching as he finally gives her a subtle nod and motions her over. His face is damned unreadable. She makes a mental note to look up an infographic on turian expressions later. 

“Should’ve warned me you’d be lurking in a dark corner,” she hums, sitting down. 

“Mm, old habit,” Nihlus says. “It’s quieter over here, with much less foot traffic. You’re late.” 

“Sorry. I was snatched into a lengthy conversation with a _fan_. Some guy named Conrad.” 

“I see. Is this a common occurrence?” 

“No,” she winces. “I mean, I’m used to people recognizing me, but this guy was, uh, intense. It was awkward.” 

“Well, unpleasant delays aside, I’m glad you showed,” Nihlus says. 

“In all fairness, I don’t think standing up a Spectre is considered a smart career move,” she says flatly. 

“Are we on joking terms now?” he says, cocking his head a bit. 

Those round, striking green eyes are boring a hole into her face. It’s hard to avoid instinctively averting her gaze. 

“Not a joke, for the most part.” 

She’s not sure what his plan for the evening is. His posture and civvies would suggest he’s relaxed, but his tone is poised and his stare diligent. 

“For the most part,” he repeats, laughing softly. “Relax, Shepard. I invited you here to review the results of my discussions with The Council.” 

“Oh?” she breathes. 

She finds herself leaning over the table, twirling her thumbs around each other to soothe her nerves. Fact is, she’s hanging on his every word now. 

“Quite. You’ll be attending a formal induction ceremony tomorrow morning. Tomorrow, your new career as a Spectre begins.” 

“I--I don’t know what to say, honestly. I’m honored…” 

“And excited,” he finishes for her. 

“Yes,” she admits. “I want this.” 

“You’ve earned it. Make no mistake, it’s a lot of responsibility, and there’s no shortage of political dealings, but it can be very rewarding,” he says coolly, raising a hand to catch the attention of a passing waitress. “Have a drink or two, on me.” 

“Are you sure?” she asks. 

“Unless you’re opposed to the notion. Otherwise, I see no problem with an off-duty soldier celebrating a prestigious achievement. Please, indulge my hospitality. It’s been a long day.” 

“I’ll bite,” Jane says, pursing her lips into a smile. 

“Spectre Kryik, always good to see you,” the asari waitress says brightly, setting a drink menu down. 

Jane watches curiously as she caresses her hand over his shoulder, donning a soft grin. “This must be Commander Shepard.” 

“Good to see you too, Aietne. And yes, it is. She’ll be drinking on my tab tonight.” 

“Yes, sir. The usual for you, or are we changing it up tonight?” she asks.

“The usual is fine, thank you.” 

“No problem. And you, Commander?” 

Jane skims her eyes over the menu and says, “Bourbon sour, on the rocks.” 

“Good choice. I’ll be right back.” 

Jane raises an eyebrow at him. “So, come here often?” 

He laughs. This time it’s a rich, proper laugh; short, but enough to bring a note to his voice that she hadn’t yet heard. She hadn’t imagined turian laughs would be so melodic. 

Piece by piece, she’s getting a sense of who Nihlus as a person might actually be, and how it blends with the rigid Spectre persona he puts on. It reinforces the feeling that she may have initially misjudged him. 

“Sorry, I know it was a serious question. It just caught me off-guard... I suppose you could call me a regular patron, but I like it here,” he finally says. “I actually tend to use this table for work. Over here, I’m not an active part of the crowd, but I blend in among them. My apartment and office get too quiet, and I can’t think.” 

“It gets too quiet to work?” 

“It’s strange, I know,” Nihlus says, shrugging. 

“No, I was actually thinking I understand,” she says. 

Aeitne returns and sets their drinks down. There’s no mistaking the affectionate smile directed at Nihlus from over her shoulder as she walks away. Nihlus’ mandibles flutter and he shifts in his seat, appearing a bit uneasy now. 

Jane takes a long sip from her glass and takes a shot in the dark, hoping she’s not misreading the situation. 

“I wasn’t going to ask.” 

“So you did notice,” Nihlus says, shaking his head. “Aeitne and I had a brief...liaison...some months ago. Apologies if her manner makes you uncomfortable. That’s just her way.” 

“It’s none of my business,” she shrugs. 

“Mm, perhaps. Though, while we’re on the topic of uncomfortability..” he starts off, pausing as he seems to gather his thoughts. “Before tomorrow’s ceremony, I’d like to clear the air of a few things.” 

“Such as?” 

“Well, you see, The Council took some convincing to grant you Spectre status, as humanity is not yet a Council race. I was able to allay their concerns under the agreement that you’ll remain under my supervision for a few months.” 

She scoffs and sets her glass down heavily. Typical politicians, always attaching strings and contingencies to everything they offer. 

She crosses her arms tightly and says, “So I’m on a leash until you decide I’m good enough.” 

“ _I_ believe you’re good enough already. This isn’t about proving yourself to me, this is about The Council seeing humanity as a risk factor. A ‘leash’ may be how _they_ see it, but I’m choosing to view this as an opportunity, Shepard. Turian-human relations could improve, there's a lot I could teach you, and two Spectres work faster than one. With my help, you just may find it easier to navigate the waters, so to speak.” 

“I’m not hearing a question, here,” she says tersely. 

He sighs heavily and takes a gulp of his drink before, at long last, he spits it out. 

“Do you have a problem with turians in general, or is it just me, Shepard?” 

“There’s the million-credit question,” she snarks. 

“Shepard… _Jane._ I made a mistake not trusting you on Eden Prime, among other things, but you’ve been hostile with me from the moment we met. Please just answer the question.” 

“No, I assure you I don’t have a problem with turians. Or Spectres, for that matter.” 

“So you do have a problem with _me_ ,” he says with a bitter chuckle. 

“I did. It’s just--” she gulps her drink, which is beginning to loosen her lips. “You come off as arrogant, moody, and it seems like you don’t say anything directly. You skirt the edges of every conversation, using clever words to dodge the point. It’s strategic, I get it. You turn things to your advantage. But as somebody who does the exact same thing, I don’t like it. And, y’know, my shoulders are still sore as all hell.” 

He nods slowly, brow plates lowered, mandibles tucked to his face. 

“I also can’t read your expressions,” she admits. “So that throws me off my game a bit.” 

He chuckles. “Ah, peach, you’re quite the talker once you get a drink in your hand. I’m inclined to order you a few more to see what else you’ll say.” 

She squints quizzically at him.“So… we are making jokes now? 

“Indeed. After all, I’ve spent my entire day arguing with a stubborn bastard that happens to be the turian councilor, on your behalf, whilst… coming to terms with being betrayed by a very dear friend,” Nihlus says. “I think I’ve earned the right to a laugh or two, even if it is at your expense. But... humor aside, I’ve heard both similar and worse complaints before. I’m a man with many allies, but few friends.” 

“Maybe we aren’t so different after all.” 

“Perhaps. I do find it intriguing that you said you _did_ have a problem. Have you found yourself reassessing your impression of me?”

“Maybe,” Jane says. “Hell, I can’t just write off the guy that fought to make me a Spectre, after all. Speaking of Saren--do you want to talk about it?”

“Spirits, no. For now I’ll stick to drinking. Probably best that I don’t do it alone.” 

“Sounds like a plan.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for this chapter taking so long! Chronic pain is a real bitch.


	11. The Officer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane is determined to make the most of shore leave, so John begrudgingly comes along. They run into a certain C-Sec officer that had a very bad day.

Sleep is just beginning to fall over his weary mind when the lights come on. John squints against the assaulting brightness, lifting a hand to shield his eyes. “Ah, what the--”

“Come on, the night’s barely started,” Jane says, grabbing the blankets from his hands. “And you’re in bed already? Gah, you’re such an old man!” 

“And you’re _a child._ Are you drunk or something?” he groans, snatching them back. 

“Almost,” she giggles. “Though, I have a feeling Nihlus was ready to give me a run for my money on that.” 

“So that’s where you were,” says John, rubbing the back of his head. “You know, some of us appreciate the value of a real night’s sleep.” 

“Some of us are boring,” she says. “Come on, you can’t waste the opportunity to get properly drunk with _the first human Spectre._ ” 

“Wait--wow. So the Council actually approved it?” 

Jane nods, grinning brightly. “Yeah, there’s a ceremony in the morning. It’s all very hush hush until then. And there’s terms and conditions attached... But my God, John…”

There was a part of him that thought the opportunity would fall flat on its face, red-taped down by The Council for some reason or another. Politicians can be brutally stubborn about new ideas, new people… Interracial politics are bound to be the worst of them all. While Jane might go down in history as the first human Spectre, Nihlus ought to go down as the most persuasive man in the galaxy. John has heard a lot about The Council in the past day, and none of it has been positive. Nothing is certain until they actually set it into public knowledge. 

“It’s a lot of responsibility,” he says. “This is big for the Alliance, for humanity. All eyes are on you, sis. Are you ready?” he asks. 

She gets quiet, chewing her lip.

“Yes. I want to do this right,” she finally says with a firm nod. 

“Then I guess I do owe you a few drinks, Miss Spectre. Give me a minute.” 

He rouses himself, rubbing hints of sleep from his eyes. He pulls back the covers and starts tucking the corners, smoothing out the wrinkled fabric with the flat of his palm. It’s been a hell of a day... Seeing the Citadel in all its glory, realizing how young and small humanity seems in comparison with a galaxy full of people, each and every race with a plight of their own. It’s beyond humbling. 

He’s burned off the majority of his social energy over the course of the day. The idea of a bustling club is unappealing at best, but he can tough it out for his sister. The days ahead are filled with uncertainty. The verse, “eat, drink, and make merry, for tomorrow we die,” feels apt. He’s not counting death as a likely outcome, but it fits well enough. He can’t shake the feeling that their lives are about to irreparably change, for better or worse. Letting go of one’s present reality is a sort of death in and of itself. 

Jane leans against the nightstand and patiently waits as he makes the bed. 

“So,” she says. “I spent my day bumming around on the extranet and having drinks with a turian Spectre. How about you?” 

He chuckles, tucking the last corner and surveying his work. “Where to start? Uh... I went sight-seeing with Williams for a while, settled an issue between C-Sec and a hanar evangelical, helped an asari consort with a personal matter... _heh..._ and met a fan, apparently.” 

“That’s a lot to unpack. But wait--the fan. Don’t tell me his name was Conrad.” 

“Yes! Oh man, don’t tell me you met him too?” he asks. 

She laughs, and says, “Yeah, he actually made me late. Talk about weird…” 

“I thought he was nice. Enthusiastic, maybe, but quite civil.” 

“Nah, I got a total stalker vibe from the guy.” 

John shrugs. “Let me get dressed and we can go. Chora’s Den seemed like your kind of place.” He makes a sidelong smirk, and adds, “You’re not even going to ask how the consort thanked me?” 

Her nose wrinkles. “ _Ew,_ John. I know that face--quit making it.” 

He grabs his clothes and winks before closing the bathroom door. 

“You’re such a pig!” she shouts. 

* * *

The grinding bass of club music and the sounds of drunken revelry remind him of better days. The bite of cheap whiskey on his tongue reminds him of worse ones. It’s an unfamiliar, bottom-shelf brand that tastes like pine and ash. 

The loud music layers with the sounds of the drunken crowd. Asari dancers writhe on platforms as eager patrons lean in, none bothering to hide the hunger in their eyes. The bar and dancefloor are ground zero for the intermingling sounds of laughter, crying, and shouting. This place reeks of desperation; everybody here is a prisoner to the desire and emotion the alcohol draws out of them. It’s a beautiful, tragic rhythm that doesn’t care about race or politics, just the inevitability of _wanting something._ Be it power, love, peace, sex… It’s all the same. John is no different, he’s just not drunk enough to fall into it yet. 

He watches Jane drift around the club. Cocktail in hand, she’s thriving on the chaos. She works the crowd, laughing and dancing with strangers. In the hour they’ve been here, she’s managed to wrap half the bar around her finger, only to cast them aside when they get too close for comfort. In the old days, she’d have ended the night with a stack of credit chits plucked from their pockets. 

“So, what’s her name? Or his. I don’t judge,” the waitress asks, picking up a glass and wiping it with a damp cloth. 

_Their names, actually… Solsby, Fowles, Arwell, Cartwright, Toombs…_

John brushes the thought aside and gives her a bitter chuckle.

“What makes you think that’s why I’m here?” he asks. 

She brushes a strand of brown hair behind her ear and says, “You’ve just got that look about you. And you’re not dancing or checking out the strippers, so…”

“Ah. No, I’m just not a fan of crowds. My sister dragged me out for drinks, and I’m not much of a dancer. She isn’t either, but it doesn’t seem to stop her trying,” he explains. 

“I see. Well, need a refill, then?” the girl asks. 

“Yeah, keep ‘em coming.” 

He lets his eyes roam over her face as she refills his glass. She has full lips, big blue eyes, ruddy brown hair that frames her face... She’s pretty. Worth a shot, but he doesn’t want to come on too strong. A girl like her in a place like this, she probably hears it all night long. 

“Got a name?” he asks, relaxing into his chair. 

“Jenna,” she says, continuing to clean the bar glasses. 

“That’s a lovely name, Jenna. I’m John.” 

“Thanks, I got it for my birthday,” she says dryly. 

He laughs lightly and sips his whiskey. “I haven’t heard that one before. So, got any interesting stories, Jenna?”

She shrugs. “You first. I just serve drinks.” 

“Aw, come on. A place like this, with C-Sec, Alliance personnel, and mercenary types, all drinking in the same room? You’ve got to have a tale or two.” 

“You’ve got that right, I guess. My job is pretty simple, though. Keep people’s drinks full, listen to their drunken woes, and clean the bar. Not sure what you want to hear.” 

“Fair enough. Though--” 

He’s interrupted by a turian in C-Sec armor taking a seat a few paces away and waving her to him.

“Gotta go, pal. Let me know if you need another drink.” 

“Damn,” he whispers into his glass. It was a long shot, anyway. 

He glances over to watch the officer. The blue-marked turian downs his first drink in one gulp, then orders another. He shakes his head idly. Several minutes pass, and he merely stares into his glass, mandibles twitching on occasion. What brings him here, still in uniform, looking so dismal? 

John decides to follow the foreboding pang in his gut and approach him, shifting out of his seat. He catches his eyes and pauses, a rigid grip on his own glass. The officer regards him with a subtle nod, and goes back to gazing into the clear liquid of his drink. 

As he’s considering how to address him, John feels a hand on his shoulder. Jane plops down next to him, her hair strewn into her flushed face. 

“Man!” she breathes, putting her empty glass onto the bar with a heavy _thud_. “These people really know how to party. My legs feel like a sack of bricks. How’re you holding up?” 

“Not bad. Taking it slow. I’d like to be able to function tomorrow.” 

“Ah, you’ll be fine,” she laughs. 

The turian across the bar has taken his eyes out of his drink and is now staring intently at Jane, an odd look in his eye as he watches her. Jane glances over at him, and back to John. 

“What’s that guy’s deal?” she huffs. 

“I dunno,” John says. “He got here a little while ago. He’s just been sitting there, brooding about something, I guess. He’s C-Sec, though.” 

“Well, I’m gonna go find out,” she says. 

She stands up, then turns back to grab John’s drink and down it. “Oh hell,” she says. “What the _fuck_ are you drinking. Oh, that’s bad. _Ugh._ ” 

She wipes her mouth and coughs before straightening up and moving forward. 

John moves to follow her, just in case it gets confrontational. 

The turian shifts in his seat uncomfortably as Jane approaches him. 

“Do you have a problem, _officer_?” she says, squaring her shoulders. 

“What? I--no,” the turian stammers. “I’m sorry, I just--you’re the Shepards, aren’t you?” 

“Yeah,” she says. “What’s it to you?” 

He braces one leg solidly on the floor, bearing his weight on it like he’s ready to take a punch. “Well, it’s just--” 

“Relax,” John says, holding a hand up. “My sister is just a bit drunk and wound up.” 

“I see. Well, I’m Garrus Vakarian. I was the officer in charge of the C-Sec investigation into Saren. I understand you’re trying to bring him down.” 

Jane visibly tenses, and sits down next to him, the sentiment seeming to have sobered her up a bit. “Oh. Any luck?” 

“I’m afraid not. They buried me in red tape. He’s a Spectre, everything he does is classified. I know he’s hiding something. But I couldn’t find any hard evidence, so C-Sec closed the case.” 

“Dammit,” Jane says. “Thanks for trying, I guess.” 

“I appreciate it. Maybe the Council will listen to you.” 

“They have to. In any case, Saren can’t run for long. He attacked a human colony and tried to kill Spectre Kryik. I’m gonna make damned sure he pays for Eden Prime,” she says, her voice lowering to a near-growl. 

“I heard about Eden Prime. He was there?” Garrus asks. 

“Yeah. I fought him myself, but he got away. I _know_ he’s working with the geth.”

“I’ll take your word for it. Well, I hear that one of you two is a potential Spectre. That has to count for something,” Garrus says. 

“It’s me, and it’s not potential. But you didn’t hear that from me,” she says, leaning in to say it quietly. 

Garrus nods, and says, “In that case, congratulations, Commander. I wish you luck.” 

“I’m Jane Shepard, I don’t need luck. Have a drink on me, I’m outta here.” 

“Thanks. Maybe we’ll see each other around,” says Garrus. 

John paces along behind her as she storms for the door. He gives Garrus one last glance before they go. There’s a lot more he’d like to know, but letting an angry and drunk Jane loose on the Citadel is a recipe for disaster. 

“You know, I was paying for the drinks,” he says, trying to ease the mood. 

“Ah, whatever. A nice gesture to the cop that at least _tried_ to stop Saren,” she says. 

“Right… where are we going?”

“To bed,” she grumbles. “Fun’s over, and I have a feeling tomorrow is going to be a very long day.” 


	12. The Threshold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nihlus ponders what went wrong with Saren. The gang prepares for Jane's Spectre induction.

Nihlus hates the scent of medi-gel. It’s faint, easily ignored, but it gradually gnaws at one’s nose, growing into a sterile tang on the tongue. Perhaps he’s just grown hypersensitive to it, but it smells like desperate attempts to evade death. It’s the aroma before the stench of a fallen comrade takes over, the anxiety of rushed applications in the midst of a firefight. It’s a miraculous innovation that reflects the struggle of organic life, perpetually scrambling to survive. What is it the humans say? Necessity is the mother of invention—that’s it. If only the substance were as odorless as it is versatile. 

This isn’t his first gunshot wound, and it certainly won’t be his last, but this one is different. It’s a grim reminder every time he moves too quickly or stretches wrong. Insult to injury, it could have been a bullet to the back of the head. Instead, it’s a mess of bruised, burned flesh slathered in medi-gel and gauze. It’s bound to scar… in more ways than one. 

Incendiary rounds often burn right through armor and kinetic barriers at close range. It’s a common ammo choice, but as he finishes dressing the wound, he can’t help picking the details apart. It’s an excessive choice, considering Eden Prime’s forces were scant and unprepared. The more he thinks about it, the more it erodes his faith. Was Saren’s betrayal of him premeditated? Did he _want_ to kill him? Where did it all go wrong? 

They’ve had their differences over the years, harsh words that sank deep on both sides, but he never knew Saren to cut down a close ally--or rather, a friend. He keeps seeing Saren’s eyes locked on his own when he pulled the trigger; the unwavering glare he often looked upon an enemy with. The sheer lack of emotion as the words people often use to describe Saren came to life. _Cold. Ruthless. Brutal._ It isn’t the expression he’s grown used to receiving from Saren, uncannily absent of the pride and warmth. There was no favor, no compassion, merely the utilitarian resolve. Somehow, he’s become just another obstacle in his former mentor’s path. 

In his youth, he’d basked in Saren’s favor, lapping it up as a starving man presented with a feast. During those early days, Saren had become the sun shining on his face. The continuous praise and adulation fueled his ambition, stoked the embers of his independence into the fire of success at The Council’s feet. He’d given him a place to belong, a path to call his own. As he settled into that very path, he’d drifted farther and farther from Saren’s ideals. Saren habitually turned a blind eye to most of their disparity. That is, until the issue of the humans came up. Humanity had quickly grown from bright-eyed children, stumbling around the galaxy, into Council allies. They were unafraid to bare their hunger for new territories, technologies, and political inclusion. He’d seen their passion as potential, but Saren was unwilling to let go of the past. The arguing rarely ceased, and they’d grown apart over it. Among other tensions... 

_“You never listen,” Saren had said._

_“And you’ll never change,” he’d spat back._

That’s about all the reminiscing he can stand for one day. What’s done is done; living in the past will only serve as an obstacle to the road ahead. One step at a time, one foot in front of the other. Hold it together, breathe, do the job. 

He steps out the door with a concealed wound, clear eyes, and an open mind. 

* * *

Briefing the human Ambassador on the terms of his agreement with The Council proves comparable to a hostage negotiation. The only thing lacking is the alluring prospect of shooting someone when they grow too unreasonable. 

It’s little wonder that humanity has struggled to coalesce with the rest of galactic civilization, when they keep appointing representatives like Udina. The man presents as a walking personification of the common criticisms against their kind—rash, unpredictable, tactless, self-absorbed. Udina has a distressingly serpentine nature. When he speaks about the advancement of humanity, his tone and word choice suggest his campaigns rest squarely with his own interests. Nihlus is confident that Jane will serve as a healthy parallel. She’s headstrong, sure, but her zeal seems to know its limits. She also spends significantly less time talking. At the moment, it’s a damned appealing quality.

“Ambassador, if I may interject,” she says, rising from her seat, “Spectre Kryik has already informed me of this agreement, and I believe The Council’s concern is justified. I have no complaints about working with him, and I see this as our opportunity to prove them wrong. My admission into the Spectres opens up future possibilities. Are you really going to waste time bellyaching about having to make one small compromise?” 

“She’s right,” says Anderson. “This is a chance we can’t afford to screw up over a few backroom politics. We keep its true purpose out of the public eye and paint it as a strategic decision.” 

“Fine, then!” Udina says. He points a finger in Nihlus’ face. His stance says he’s about to make a threat. He resists the reflexive urge to grab Udina by the wrist and warn him to choose his words carefully. 

“You’d better ensure this works out. You made this agreement without my approval, and I have no intention of forgetting it,” Udina says, failing to lower his arm from in front of Nihlus’ nose. 

It’s as good a time as any to take his leave. 

“You’ve made your point, Ambassador. I assure you, I look forward to working closely with Shepard in the coming months. Now, if you’ll excuse me, The Council convenes in less than an hour,” he says. 

“Hold on, you—”

He doesn’t give him an ear. There’s nothing left to say, so he simply signals Jane to follow him. 

The moment they’re clear of the office, he gives Jane an approving smile. She probably doesn’t read it as such, but surely she’ll learn in time. She did a fine job of bringing the discussion to a close. She starts to stifle a laugh, putting a hand on her mouth. 

“Something funny, Shepard?” 

An amused noise rises from deep in her chest, and she says, “Ah, I’m sorry, it’s just—that’s the second time you’ve walked out on him, and you never see his _face_. Oh, it’s priceless!” 

He gives a little chuckle himself and feigns ignorance. “I have absolutely no idea what you mean. Was he talking to me?” 

Oh good, she picked up on his sarcasm, because she’s laughing a tiny bit harder now. This small, bright-eyed human is quickly growing on him. She handles herself admirably under pressure, only to drop all pretenses of professionalism the moment she’s in pleasant company. He takes her new lack of self-restraint as a sign that she’s growing comfortable in his presence. Thus far, he’s only observed her behaving so casually with her brother, and the Normandy’s pilot for a moment or two. 

“You handled yourself admirably, Commander. I have to ask, did you truly believe what you said?” 

She chews on her lip for a moment--does that hurt? It looks like it ought to be painful--before she answers, “Yes and no. I sympathize with The Council in wanting to cover their asses. That doesn’t mean I appreciate it.” 

“I see. Retain that honesty and this will be a great partnership,” he says. 

She shrugs. “I’m far too hungover to put up with Udina’s crap.” 

“Oh? I assumed you still had a decent level of sobriety when we parted.” 

“I’m bad at knowing when to quit. I spent the remainder of the night at Chora’s Den,” Jane says. 

She skims a hand through her hair. He watches the strands part around her fingers, the substance atop her head showing no resistance to the maneuver, yielding readily to the touch. Does _that_ hurt? So many strange habits aligned with human biology... It’s terribly distracting. 

“I see you made it out alive. Quite the accomplishment, all things considered,” he says. 

“Is that a joke?” 

“If you have to ask…” 

She frowns and says, “Erm… anyway, glad we managed to keep Udina’s hands out of the whole mess. For now. God, I hate politicians.” 

“On that, we can agree. Your Ambassador is…” he lets the sentence trail off, mindful of his words. 

“A loudmouthed, arrogant jackass,” she finishes for him. 

“You have such a charming way with words, Shepard,” Nihlus says. 

“At least I say what I mean,” she retorts. “And please, just ‘Jane’ is fine. With my brother around, ‘Shepard’ gets confusing real quick.” 

“Noted.” 

Shortly after exiting to the Embassy lobby, her brother springs to his feet to take his usual place at her side, scant distance between the two of them as their strides synchronize. “Codependent” was the word Anderson used to describe their relationship. He’d warned him against putting them in competition with one another, questioning the morality of the issue. If there are hard feelings between them as a result of it, it’s beyond his perception. As he leads them to the elevator for Citadel Tower, he ponders the odd glances they share between one another. The wordless expressions appear to carry a conversation in and of themselves. Trying to read the meaning behind the strange method of communication leaves him confounded. 

The elevator to the tower is the last moment before history is set in stone. This is the moment Jane transcends her fame into legend. In retrospect, John Shepard would have been the safe choice. He’s quiet, polite, with a litany of positive remarks in his file. He’s yet to see him in action, but he has the inclination that John is the Alliance’s ideal personnel model. But Nihlus was never one to lean on the safe choice. He wasn’t looking for a good soldier, he was seeking a trailblazer. He can’t put a name to the particular quality in Jane that determined his decision, but it feels unsettlingly familiar, like gazing into a window to his own history. 

As the elevator door opens, he leans in close to Jane and says softly, “Last chance to back out.” 

He’s only half-joking. He wouldn’t blame her if she did walk away. Spectre status is a heavy burden as it is, he can’t imagine the immense weight of being your species’ first—the hopes, dreams, expectations, and judgment of an entire galaxy’s eyes are set on her. 

She turns to look him in the eye. _There_ it is. It’s the pure fire brimming just beneath the surface, baring itself in her vibrant green eyes; the silent plea of an individual caged in the limitations of being a soldier. He’d bet his last credit she didn’t entirely want a life in the Alliance, simply found herself there by circumstance. The palpable sense of her independence and tenacity assures him that he made the right choice.

“Not in a million years,” she says firmly. “I was born for this.” 

Those words are all he needs to hear to confirm his intuitions. Like a string of fate woven between them, he can feel the inevitability in it. Given a word of encouragement and half a chance, she’ll surpass him. As they step off the elevator, he’s able to put Saren out of his mind for a long moment, and simply enjoy the excitement flowing in his veins. 

Time to find out what the first human Spectre can accomplish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First attempt at Nihlus' POV, praying I didn't botch it. Next up: the adventure begins!


	13. The Initiation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nihlus introduces Jane to the exciting world of the Spectres.

_“Hey, you two. It’s dad. I thought I should start recording messages, because… well, kids, things aren’t looking good. This war has barely started, but we’re already… God help us, the casualty lists get longer every day. I’m doing my best, trying to keep morale up, but they’re tearing us apart out here. I’m going to do everything I can to come home to you two, but should the worst happen… I want you to know how much I love you. You had such bad luck, losing your mom, and I can’t stand the thought of you growing up without knowing what your father’s voice sounds like. So, I guess I’ll start recording a few messages for you, y’know, just in case. I hope to high heaven you never need to hear these recordings. But if you do… Kids, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I never got to see you grow up. Oh… where to start?_

_Ah, Janey-bug, I know you’ll be brave. You remind me so much of your mother, always in a rush, a_ _nd nothing ever scares you. You have her eyes, her laugh, and already her spirit. You came into this world so damned brave. Your grandma called you an easy infant; you hardly ever cried. You seemed like you were just… just so happy to be here, in this world. Now, as you’re getting older, you’re so curious--nearly unstoppable, when you have your heart set on something. And I have a feeling you’re going to be such a good sister. You know, your mother had two separate cribs for the two of you, and I guess you didn’t like that one bit, because until I’d put you with Johnny, you’d just scream and scream. No matter what I did, the moment your brother was out of your sight, there was no calming you down. And every time you cried, it’d get him going… Heh, there was no peace if you didn’t get your way, you know? I just know you’ll do great things when you’re older, if you hold onto that fierceness. Maybe you’ll have a bit of your mother’s mind, the art, the reading, the science… or maybe you’ll decide on a path all your own. Either way, I’m absolutely positive you’re destined for greatness. Hold on tight to your courage. I keep thinking about this one line your mother loved. Ah, it was perfect... ‘Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage, against the dying of the light,’ that was the one. Remember that, Jane, and I know you’ll be just fine.”_

She remembers each and every word. They’re burned into her mind from hearing them a thousand times over, throughout the years. Four messages, overlaid with crackling static and the hum of an early-gen ship drive, each growing more fearful than the last. Her father’s desperate, scattered thoughts, his forlorn laughs, give her peace, strength. It drives her to step out into the unknown, to walk the uncertain path with fearlessness. She’d listened to it this morning, standing on the verge of a new beginning. Now, as she stands at the top of the stairs, strapped with the shiny new title--Commander Jane Shepard, _Council Spectre_ \--she’s stepping into what feels like a brave new world. The meeting itself hadn’t been anything special, just another ceremony, adhering to formalities, listening to a speech about being ‘the galaxy’s first and last line of defense,’ so on and so forth. Even across the species barrier, politicians are politicians. It’s all the same dance; only the tune changes. Her focus had been on the steady, approving nod from Nihlus as she’d stepped forward, the soft smile on Anderson's face, the compelled eyes of mixed-race onlookers. She could see John’s broad smile from across the spacious room, _just_ make out the thumbs-up he’d given her as she accepted the rank with her best attempts at honor and grace. 

“So, any thoughts you care to share?” Nihlus asks, nodding to her to follow him down the stairs. 

She likes the way he words the question, giving her the choice to answer, rather than demanding it. 

“Well, The Council sure love the sound of their own voices, don’t they?” she says. 

He chuckles, the genuine sound rolling up from his chest in a deep rumble. “You learn fast, kid. Oftentimes it’s best to simply let them talk.” 

“Just think of a happy place and listen for your name, huh? Works for me,” she says. “Lemme guess, it’s onward to paperwork now, isn’t it?” 

“Far from it,” Nihlus says, nodding to her to follow him down the stairs. “Now that you’ve suffered through your first Council meeting, you get to pick out your new toys. Spectre-grade weapons, armor, unique resources, and so on. I imagine you'd like to browse the select amp upgrades in particular, given your biotics.” 

“Mmm, keep talking dirty to me,” she hums. 

Maybe not the best joke to make, in retrospect, considering the slight hesitation in his next step. He cranes his head at her, stiffening his posture and glancing her up and down as they get into the elevator. 

“Just stepped out of the Alliance’s regulatory control, and already flirting, hm? Well, I consider myself an... _open-minded_ person, but--” 

She chokes. On the air? Her own saliva? She’s not sure, but she’s coughing. 

“Oh, God, no—I-I’m not, I didn’t—oh jeez,” she stammers, face growing hot. Her flustered mind decides the best course of action is to stare fixedly at her shoes. 

He laughs, almost a wicked little sound this time, and says, “I forget, you humans are rather, ah, uptight about that sort of thing, even without a military background. My mistake.” 

“Yeah,” she says, clearing her throat loudly. 

Nope, she’s definitely not going to think about the implications of what exactly _open-minded_ meant, not going to imagine it. 

“Your face has turned a rather interesting color, there. Embarrassed?” he asks. 

“Uh, mortified, yeah.” 

“No need to be. My apologies, strictly business from here on out,” he says assuredly. 

“Thanks,” she says. It comes out as more of a squeak than a sentence. “It's not, erm, personal.” 

“I didn’t take it as such,” Nihlus says. 

She envies his composure. This is suddenly the world’s longest elevator ride, and she’s feeling the urge to blather out an explanation of her strong reaction as the silence grows. 

“I’m just not like that,” she says, “to clarify.”

He turns his head to lower his brow plates at her. Is that a squint, maybe, or a frown? 

“Like what?” 

“ _Casual,_ ” she says through gritted teeth. “I don’t do, uh, those sort of things lightly.” 

He nods, facing forward again with a soft “hm” sound, as though she just gave him an interesting bit of trivia. Dear God, if this awkwardness lasts another minute, she’ll squirm right out of her own skin. 

“So… where are we headed?” she asks, desperate to shift the subject. 

“C-Sec Academy. The requisitions office, specifically.” 

“Great.” 

The elevator stops, and they walk through the blue-lit corridors of C-Sec in silence. It’s a small office with a single turian officer seated at a desk. 

“Spectre Kryik,” he says, noting the two of them with a nod. “What can I do for you?” 

Nihlus goes through the formalities, the officer reacting in surprise briefly before handing Jane a datapad. “Make your selections and I’ll have them sent over to the Spectre office.” 

“There’s a Spectre office?” she asks Nihlus. “Oh, _cool._ ” 

His mandibles flare out from his face, baring his sharp teeth. It’s a little startling at first, but it grows kind of charming as her natural flight response dissipates. 

“Okay, _that_ ’ _s_ a smile, isn’t it?” 

“Yes, Commander, it is.” 

* * *

“Turian, male, Spectre status recognized. Human, female, Spectre status not recognized,” a VI announces as they enter. 

A brief alert sounds and the system warns, “Security lockdown in place.” 

Nihlus wordlessly approaches a terminal, types in an authorization, and it says, “Override authority accepted. Complete inducted Spectre verification.” 

“It’ll take a few bio-scans, record your handprint, and have you validate pertinent background information. It’s a quick process,” he explains. 

“Better than lengthy paperwork,” she shrugs. 

“Quite. Spectres are busy people, so the protocol has been streamlined,” says Nihlus. “Your requisition order should be in the equipment locker.” 

“That fast?” she asks, surprised. 

“We’re also not known for being patient individuals,” he says. 

She grins. “This is going to work out just fine.” 

A scanner lights up, flickering over her a few times. Upon finishing, a terminal lights up. He reaches for her hand, as if it's a guiding motion, but he halts the move. She can feel the warmth of his hand hovering over her skin before he withdraws the gesture. She raises an eyebrow, questioning the odd restraint. 

He doesn’t explain, just says, “Place your hand on that pad there. Very firmly.” 

She nods and does as she’s instructed, listening to the humming scan.

“Biological identification registered. Verify personnel record,” the VI says, as the terminal changes to a wall of text. 

She leans over the data file, scanning through her personal and military history. 

“Looks good,” she says, signing off on it. 

“Identity registration complete. Welcome, Spectre Shepard,” the VI says. 

“Alright. Equipment locker?” she asks. 

Nihlus smiles and says, “Right this way.” 

Sure enough, inside is a large case marked “Shepard.” She heaves it out onto the bench and kneels down to inspect its contents, each box embossed with manufacturer logos. She goes right for one labeled with an Alliance supplier. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t go for the standard-issue Spectre armor,” Nihlus says. 

“It looked too bulky,” she says, fondly caressing the red and white shoulder-guard. The paint glimmers in the faintly blue light. “I’ve been wearing N7 colors for years now. Up until today, it was my proudest accomplishment… I guess I tend to keep my past close to my heart.” 

“I see,” he says softly. 

"Now, let's try out the good stuff," she says, opening the amp box. 

Jane takes a deep breath and keys in the ejection code on her omni-tool. She leans her head forward to remove her amp, careful to keep her hair out of the way. She tucks the small chip into the sterile box in place of the new one, not ready to say goodbye to it just yet. The fresh amp clicks in with ease, a gentle vibration humming under her fingertips to signal proper activation. 

She grounds herself on the floor beneath her knees, letting the excitement in her system rise as she focuses on the feel of the new tech. She brings a barrier up around her hand with ease, a stable deep blue. 

“Time to find out what this baby can do!” she says, jumping up. 

Nihlus cocks his head and says, “Pardon? It’s tech, not an infant.” 

“Figure of speech,” she shrugs. 

“You humans have strange turns of phrase.” 

“We do, don’t we? Anyway, know where I can test this thing out without breaking something?” 

“Certainly. Allow me to give you the tour, starting with the shooting range and sparring ring.” 

“Sparring?” she asks. “As in, full hand-to-hand practice?” 

“Yes. Turian recruits pushed for it years ago.” 

“Can’t say I disapprove. Close combat is kind of my thing.” 

“So I’ve gathered. I imagine we’ll have a good few matches ourselves these next few months, to hone your abilities. For now, take some time to familiarize yourself with your new gear. I have some business to attend to here. Take all the time you need.” 

“I'll make myself at home. Business, hm? Anything interesting?” she asks. 

“Unfortunately, no. I’m expecting a full report from C-Sec regarding their investigation into Saren.”

“Oh,” she says, remembering the officer in the bar. “Hey, does the name Garrus Vakarian mean anything to you?” 

Nihlus shakes his head. “Can’t say I’ve heard of him. Why?” 

“I met him last night, in Chora’s Den. He said he was in charge of the investigation and… well, he wasn’t the bearer of good news,” she says hesitantly. 

Nihlus lets out a heavy sigh, his posture dropping to a slouch as he folds his arms. “I expected as much. Well, then I know who to reach out to if I have questions about the report.” 

She grabs his arm as he turns to walk away. He stiffens, turning back to look her in the eye. 

She gazes up at him, putting as much comfort as she can into her words. “Hey... Saren will pay for what he did to you.” 

“I appreciate that, Shepard. But retribution isn’t where my priorities lie right now,” he says coldly, breaking free of her grasp and turning abruptly away. "I don't expect you to understand." 

“I told you, it’s Jane…” she says softly to herself as the door to the training room closes behind him. 

The room grows cold and quiet as she stands there alone. She lets out a growl and sends a nearby practice drone hurling away in a blaze of blue. It hits the wall, sparks flying. 

_Well, the amp works._


	14. The Assessment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nihlus gets a better look at Jane's combat style

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is FINALLY here! My apologies for it taking so long. College started again, and I'm raising kittens!

“Hey,” she says. 

Nihlus gives her a wordless nod, staring intently at a message terminal. His eyes flit across the screen as he reads for a long moment. He sighs. 

“Is the amp to your liking?” he asks, tonelessly. 

“Hell yes,” Jane says, flexing her fingers. “Heightened response, better cooldown time. It’s fun.” 

“Hm, fun,” Nihlus hums. “You’re an enthusiastic one.” 

“So I’ve been told. What’s eating you?” 

He twitches. “What’s-- _what_?” 

“Ah jeez, my expressions really aren’t working out today. I mean, what’s bothering you? Right now specifically,” Jane asks. 

“Right. Have a look,” he shrugs, opening his hands toward the terminal. 

She skims over the investigation report. Subtle traces of professionally-worded frustration and repeated citation of denied access to classified information to one Garrus Vakarian. It’s self-explanatory enough. 

She runs a hand through her hair and says, “He wasn’t kidding about being stonewalled. This is the entire report? There’s barely anything here. Not a shred of hard evidence.” 

“My thoughts exactly. This is just typical. Put C-Sec in charge of an investigation, and give them nothing to work with. The investigation into Saren was over before it began,” Nihlus says. 

“Do you think The Council is protecting him?” she asks. 

“I certainly wouldn’t be surprised. He’s always had their favor on his side. He gets results, doesn’t complain, and in turn, they don’t ask questions,” he says. 

She furrows her brow. “Isn’t their job to ask questions? Keep their Spectres in line?” 

“Officially, yes. But you see, a lot of our work gets... _messy._ We make hard choices, play fast and loose with the law, and outright break it if that’s what it takes to get the job done. In practice, The Council would rather turn a blind eye,” says Nihlus. 

“So they’d rather pretend their hands are clean. As far as they’re concerned, it’s not a problem until it’s a problem,” she scoffs. 

“Precisely. I don’t envy their burden of leadership, but diplomacy only goes so far. At some point, enough is enough. Saren has gone too far. I’ve also been going through his latest mission reports, but…” 

“But it’s not enough, is it?” 

“No. There are red flags, but nothing of use. On paper, he’s clean.” 

“I see,” Jane pauses and asks, “Earlier, you said you don’t want revenge. So what do you want?” Jane asks. 

His posture tenses, his hand coming to rest at his injured side. A lull resonates in the air. She waits, watches to see if he’ll shut her out again. 

“I need answers,” he says. “And justice, if there is such a thing.” 

“Justice,” she says, chewing on the word. “Something I’ve only ever found down the barrel of a gun.” 

He turns and approaches the training room. “If you’re determined to talk, can you do it on your feet?” 

Jane raises an eyebrow. “What, you bored?” 

“No, but all this standing around has me restless,” Nihlus says. “I said I’d train you. I need a better look at your abilities.” 

She follows him onto the sparring floor, cracking her knuckles. “Shouldn’t you be resting while that wound heals?” 

“Indulge me. I’ll let you take the first punch.” 

She ponders her first move, putting her fists up, bracing a leg behind her. She looks him over, scoping for a good starting hit as he gets into his own stance. Several seconds pass, her eyes locking with his in a hushed game of mental chess. He’s favoring his left, defending his injured side. Is that a reflex, or does he think she’d actually take the cheap shot? 

Her usual instinct is to go for the face, but on this level ground, this far apart, leaning up for the hit would leave her open for a counterattack. She could hook a leg behind one of his knees, throw him off balance, but--

Her thought pattern scatters when his fist collides with her cheekbone. She reels back, grasping for a foothold after the unanticipated strike. Just as quickly as she gets one, she loses it to him sweeping her legs from under her. The breath is knocked from her lungs with a soft yelp. She gasps and coughs to regain control as her body processes the shock, pulsing pain beginning to set in. She touches her cheek, examining the blood on her fingers from the split flesh. 

“What the… _hell_?” she says, glaring at him as he towers over her. 

He reaches a hand to help her up. “Never hesitate. Fighting fair merely gives your opponent the upper hand.” 

She rises to her feet, still surprised at the ease with which Nihlus hoists her upright, bracing her steady with just one arm. Damn, he could probably outright carry her without breaking a sweat. Do turians even sweat? She shakes the mental image and looks up at him. His piercing eyes lock with hers once again, holding her gaze hostage. 

“You’re trembling,” he says, strictness melting into concern. “Are you alright?” 

She clenches her teeth. No hesitation, right? 

“Fine,” she growls, gripping his shoulder and thrusting her own weight back to pull him down. He falters but doesn’t fall. 

“Nice try,” he chuckles. “But it’s going to take a lot more than that. Come on, little human, hit me.” 

She lunges for his chin, but it’s too slow. He grabs her arm before her fist impacts and shoves it away. 

“I’ve seen a volus hit harder than that. Is that all you’ve got, kid?” 

She grits her teeth and moves again, putting her weight into a full kick to the back of his leg. He winces momentarily, and suddenly she’s on the floor again, view clouded by pain. Her heartbeat roars in her ears as he scoffs. 

“I expected better of an N7. Right now, I’m not your friend, Jane. This is a fight, dammit!” 

She clambers gracelessly back to her feet, breathing hard, gripping tight to her willpower. Adrenaline is taking over, the burning desire to win rising in her chest. She braces herself into a defensive stance, raising her fists to protect her face and torso. 

“I’m gonna wipe that smug look right off your face,” she says. “You wanna dance? Let’s go.” 

She focuses her energy into a barrier, casting a faint blue hue to her sight. 

“Now you’re catching on,” he says, grinning. 

She dodges his attacks, gaining confidence as his kicks and blows strike air. She moves to hit him properly this time, but again, he uses it against her. His grip on her arm throws her off balance. The moment she stumbles, he takes her feet out from under her again. The barrier prevents the pain of the fall but leaves her open long enough for him to land a hard blow to her stomach. The force of it breaks her focus. She strains to hold her flickering barrier as she gets up. They’re weaving around one another now, dodging blows and blocking close attacks. Her strikes grow more strategic as she learns his rhythms, landing a few good hits, but never gaining the upper hand. Every time she thinks she has him pinned, he’s stronger, faster, more strategic. She’s burning herself out trying to keep up; barrier fading away, sweat staining her brow. 

“Getting tired, peach?” he says. 

“What is with--Stop calling me that,” she hisses. 

The taunting is starting to gnaw at her. She has the feeling that’s exactly what he wants, but she can’t help playing right into it. The frustration grows to anger, and anger becomes power. 

Finally--a good strong blow to his face, a reaching kick between his knees and leg spurs, and he’s down. Just as she’s reveling in it, he grabs her ankle and takes her down with him. She groans, watching Nihlus get to his feet before she does. 

“You’re losing. You’ve got talent, but you’re outmatched.” 

Something inside her snaps to the surface. White-hot, blinding fury. The bite of a kicked dog. It’s a mistake as soon as it happens. He hits the wall on the other side of the room. For a few seconds, he doesn’t move. Time slows, the air around her growing frigid. 

“ _Shit!_ ” she shouts, rushing over to him. She lost control, overreacted, and threw him. 

Not again, not again, she swore... _never again._

She’s quaking as she kneels down beside him, senses fogged by panic. 

“Oh shit, Nihlus, I’m sorry, I--” 

He’s… laughing. 

Jane stammers, “Wh--what the hell is funny? I thought I killed you!” 

He wheezes through a laugh, and says, “Relax. If it were that easy to kill me, I’d be dead a hundred times over. Hell, I really ought to stop intentionally riling up biotics. That was quite a throw.” 

She chews her lip. “I’m sorry, I got angry and--” 

He puts a hand on hers. She flinches at the touch, but the soft gleam in his eyes is oddly comforting. 

She pauses, staring blankly at his hand on top of hers as she calms herself. Despite so few fingers, the sheer size of it dwarfs hers. It feeds into natural curiosity, the urge to take his glove off, and examine it. His ability to both piss her off and yet ease her mind practically gives her whiplash. 

“You’re alright, Jane. I was trying to force your hand. Testing a theory, really.” 

He lifts his hand away, only to stroke a thumb across her bleeding cheek. 

“W-what theory?” she says, voice wavering. 

She’s battling with mixed inclinations. Half of her wants to draw away from the touch, the other side to lean in to rest her face against his palm. The man is a damned enigma, and she doesn’t like the confusion one bit. She settles on holding utterly, completely still to let him do as he will. 

He retracts his hand with a soft hum, and says, “Let’s get some medi-gel for that. Can’t have people thinking I make a habit of beating up women.” 

She chuckles and says, “I think I won in the end.” 

“Perhaps. Some would say you cheated,” Nihlus says. 

“Just using what I have. You’re really okay?” 

“Barely a scratch,” he shrugs, standing up. 

“Seriously, though, what theory?” Jane asks. 

“On Eden Prime, I got the impression that you’re strongest when you’re angry. Given your background, it’s a logical assessment. Living on the streets, fending for yourself, alone... Experiences like that feed anger like little else,” says Nihlus.

“I wasn’t alone. I had John,” she says. “Now, is that an observation, or personal understanding?” 

“That’s irrelevant,” Nihlus says, taciturn. “Am I right, or not?” 

“None of your business,” she grumbles. “Those days have been over for a long time.” 

“Maybe, but they are defining. If we’re going to work together, I need to know what motivates you. Your strengths, weaknesses. To train you, I have to know what I’m working with.” 

He opens a first aid kit, handing her a small unit of medi-gel. 

She takes it and opens it, fingering across her cheek to assess where to apply it. 

“Partnerships are give and take,” Jane says. “You’ve read everything about me. You may not know me, but the pieces are all there. I’m in the dark here. Every time I ask you a question, you deflect it. Isn’t that a little unfair?” 

“Life isn’t fair. All you need to know is, my story isn’t any prettier than yours,” says Nihlus. 

“See, you say things like that, and it just makes me want the story more.” 

“Earn it,” he says. 

The remark irritates her at first, but mirrors her own attitude. How many times has she said the same thing? 

“Fine. But I expect you to do the same. My story isn’t free just because you have access to my personnel record,” 

He blinks at her for a long moment and finally smiles. “So be it. Now, would you like to hear how I kicked your ass? A few adjustments and you might have a chance _without_ biotics.” 

She nods. “Let’s hear it.” 

The medi-gel stings on her cheek. Somehow, wounds always hurt most while healing. 


	15. The Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang tackles an ill-fated Council meeting with Saren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little canon-heavy, but I think this chapter turned alright <3

The trees in Citadel Tower usher in memories of a life long gone. Their pink leaves are nearly the same color as crepe myrtle blossoms at the beginning of June. He’d lived near the downtown river all his life, but never took the time to really _see_ the lush plant life that clung to the sides of the pavement. Not until the night they had run away. In the neon lights of the city, as the San Antonio streets were hushed and barren, he had absorbed the sight of those trees for the first time. The warm summer breeze was filled with the gentle sweet smell of river water and the myrtle flowers. Fallen fuchsia blooms littered the concrete and floated gently atop the water. As Jane led him away into the night with iron resolve, he had only thought about the tiny pink petals clinging to his bare feet. 

When she strides in alongside Nihlus, she’s wearing the exact same expression. She’s composed entirely of fortitude and flame-tested willpower, steadily moving forward. For a moment, he almost feels sorry for Saren. There’s a new, odd synchronization to the way the two Spectres walk together, like they’re standing on some common ground, as members of a not-so-secret club. He rises to his feet from the bench and takes one last lingering gaze at the trees. 

“Where’s Captain Anderson?” John asks.

“We came to a mutual agreement that he ought to recuse himself from this proceeding,” Nihlus says steadily. “The Council already has reason to doubt our motivations, given my own history with Saren. One more biased perspective could tip the entire argument.” 

John nods, idly picking at the threads of his shirt hem. 

“I don’t like cutting Captain Anderson out of this investigation, either,” Jane says. “But I trust Nihlus to know what he’s talking about. We need to limit our liabilities, take all the leverage we can get.” 

The word “trust” isn’t often part of his sister’s vocabulary. In fact, he’d been expecting her to fight the Spectre every step of the way, making his life hell at every opportunity. _Weird._

He holds his breath through every step to the Council chambers, where Udina stands with a sour expression and a real-time projection of Saren looms large. Bitter introductions are made, greetings with false chivalry, and a summary of their objectives is stated. It goes on far too long. He can see Jane’s right hand twitching into a fist, her eyes turning to ice in Saren’s direction. She’s stone silent while Nihlus calmly presents their case. 

“In conclusion, we have strong reason to suspect Saren’s involvement in the geth attack on Eden Prime,” he says. “I believe the formal testimony of myself and those present on Eden Prime will provide plenty of proof that Saren has betrayed Citadel interests, allied with the geth, and initiated hostilities against the human race.” 

“The geth attack is a matter of some concern, but there is nothing to suggest Saren was involved in any way,” the asari councilor says. “On the contrary, he has provided viable evidence that he was on assignment at the time of the attack.” 

“Ludicrous!” Udina shouts. “You have the Eden Prime reports. An eyewitness saw him attempt to kill Nihlus in cold blood!” 

Nihlus flinches at the subject, turning to glare at the Ambassador. 

“The testimony of one traumatized dockworker isn’t proof enough,” the salarian councilor says. 

“Even if it was, the C-Sec investigation turned up no evidence to support your charge of treason,” says the turian. 

“I spoke to the officer in charge of it. You buried C-Sec in red tape!” Jane says, stepping up. “Did you honestly expect them to find anything?” 

“Anecdotal evidence at best,” the councilor defends. 

“No, she’s right, Sparatus,” says Nihlus. “I read the report. No accommodations were made for C-Sec to investigate properly. They had no leads and weren’t given access to pertinent information.” 

“Nihlus, you of all people should know that Spectre operations are sensitive. They’re classified to the highest level for a reason,” the asari says. 

“Keep preaching that line, Tevos. See where it gets us,” Nihlus mutters under his breath. 

If she did hear him say it, she doesn’t react. Nihlus’ crosses his arms tightly, glancing daggers at Saren. 

“I resent these accusations. I’ve come to expect this kind of behavior from humanity, but you, Nihlus?” 

That seems to be the final line before Nihlus loses his composure. 

“Don’t you _dare_ try to turn this back on me! You started this!” 

Saren shakes his head. “I see Captain Anderson has filled your head with his ideas about me. And this must be his protege, Jane Shepard. The one who let the beacon get destroyed.” 

“She’s my protege now,” Nihlus says, puffing his chest. “And I’m proud of it. Stop trying to put the blame on everyone else.” 

Maybe John can catch him in the lie--get him to show his weak hand. 

“How do you even know about the beacon?” he asks. “The mission to Eden Prime was top secret. The only way you could know--” 

Nihlus holds up a hand and shakes his head at him. 

“He’s a Spectre, Commander. It isn’t hard to access relevant files in these situations,” he explains. 

Jane is biting her lip, cheeks flushing with anger. Both of her fists are clenched tight. John’s first instinct is to step up, grab her shoulder, _diffuse._ But here and now, he’s just going to have to trust her. 

“Ignorance, typical,” Saren says. 

The contempt in his tone puts a foul taste in John’s mouth. 

“You owe me more than this, Saren! We were friends once,” Nihlus says, voice wavering. “You were like a father to me, and you just, just…” he sighs, taking a moment to steady himself. “Stop lying and deflecting your actions with petty insults. Come clean and this doesn’t have to end badly.” 

“You’ve allowed your belief in _them_ to cloud your judgement. Now look at you, throwing away your potential. Pathetic.” 

“Enough!” Sparatus shouts. “I’m not convinced this is any more than a domestic dispute.”

Nihlus opens his mouth to speak, but only hangs his head. Jane subtly touches his shoulder with a soft expression on her face, but the turian shifts away from it. Her eyes are aflame once more, biting her lip and tensing her posture into rigid military form. Clearly, John has missed a lot about their change in dynamic. 

“These humans are wasting your time, Councilors. And mine. But what can you expect from humans?” says Saren. 

Jane’s words are filled with venom as she says, “You can expect me to kill you next time we meet.” 

John’s ears start ringing as Saren spouts some cutting remark about humanity needing to learn its place, not being ready for Spectre status. The infighting starts as Udina makes angry, anecdotal accusations, Nihlus defends that Jane is already a Spectre, and bitterly asks the Ambassador to calm down… It all blends into the background as the real issue comes crashing into his mind. Blood and shadowy figures, unknown faces, alien voices, soldiers falling dead where they stand... The beacon’s warning, burning in his thoughts, consuming him, screaming, _tell them._ This is already a lost battle. One Hail Mary to try and turn the tide. 

Maybe the others are still talking, maybe they aren’t, when it comes falling from his lips. 

“The beacon showed me something,” he says. 

The room falls silent, all eyes on him. Nihlus is shaking his head firmly, practically begging him not to say it. He has to. They have to know the truth. 

His voice shakes as he says, “It gave me some kind of vision… I know it’s hard to believe, I know I sound crazy, but I think the Protheans were trying to warn us against some kind of synthetic life they went to war against. They lost, and they must have left that beacon for us so we could avoid the same fate. Whatever wiped the Protheans out, they’re coming back for us.” 

Naturally, it backfires. Saren rebuffs it as a dream, Sparatus remarks that it’s wild imaginings, and Nihlus is glaring at him with… what is that, anyway? Anger? Disappointment? Whatever it is, he’s just thrown himself out of the frying pan and into the fire. 

Nihlus defends him anyway. 

“We still understand little about the Protheans or their technology. I believe the Commander is telling the truth. However, it’s an issue for another time.” 

Tevos sighs. “You must understand, as an esteemed Spectre, we are inclined to believe you. But there is simply not enough evidence to justify punitive action against Saren. Bring us something solid and we will re-examine the issue.” 

Nihlus nods. “Thank you, Councilor.” 

The Council members exchange glances for a long moment. 

“The Council has found no connection between Saren and the geth. Your petition to have him disbarred from the Spectres is denied.” 

Just like that, the meeting is adjourned. Everyone walks away with a heavier stride. John takes each step down the stairs like a walk of shame. Waiting for Nihlus to come down hard on him for opening his mouth. Maybe he is just spewing nonsense. Maybe he imagined the whole thing… No. It’s too vivid, too raw and bitter. _Too_ real. 

He drops into a seat at the closest bench and puts his head in his hands. Nihlus takes a seat next to him. For a moment his posture is so similar to a coiled spring that John thinks the turian might hit him.

Instead, the Spectre sighs, and says, “You tried. That’s what counts. I don’t appreciate you going against my advice, but you spoke for something you believed. That takes great strength of character.” 

“I screwed up though, didn’t I?” John asks.  
  
“We were ‘screwed’ long before we walked in here. We all knew it. Well, perhaps your Ambassador lacks that kind of realism, but my point stands. Now, the question worth asking is what you’ll do next time,” Nihlus says calmly, a tinge of sympathy in his voice. 

“You sound like someone with a plan,” says John. 

“I always have a plan,” Nihlus says proudly, mandibles spreading wide. 

Damned if that isn’t a menacing, utterly confusing expression to look at. 

“Come on,” Jane says, smirking as she offers a hand. “We all could use some rest. Tomorrow, the real work begins. See, Nihlus and I did some strategizing already.” 

John takes her hand, leaning on her strength as he gets to his feet. She’s still the same girl that led him alongside the river, deep into the city. The same eyes, still filled with fire and tenacity, entirely dauntless. He’ll always be ready to follow. 

“The game is afoot, brother,” she says, the softest of smiles creeping up her lips.  
  



	16. The Habits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane does some drinking and introspection. She and John have as normal of a morning as possible when their routines have been flipped upside down

The bravado falls to the floor, cast aside with her boots and jacket. It’s a slow, bitter dance, familiar with every step. It’s a firm grip on a bottle of bourbon, the cool tile floor beneath her bare feet, the comfortable way her spine reclines against the porcelain edge of the empty bathtub. Jane sips from the bottle, settles in to reflect on the day’s events. She has to take the time to think through each detail, like organizing files in a drawer. Process, evaluate, accept or push away. Emotions are messy. They have to be tidied and kept in check. Cataloged and quantified to retain control.

The alcohol is lukewarm and burns in her throat. She grits her teeth, swirls a thumb around the rim of the bottle, thoughtfully touches her healed cheek. She’s spent the last decade fighting every urge toward anger and self-indulgent ambition. She’s held fast to her best efforts at being the “good soldier” she’s expected to be. She’s been good at it. The Alliance spoke of her potential, called her the hero of Elysium, and assigned her to one of the most esteemed captains in the fleet. Service, duty, honor; all empty words to her. They felt like words for someone else. Patriotic platitudes for a believer like John. All these years, she’s been fighting someone else’s battles, following orders, and smiling at hollow commendations. A calculated song and dance, the posture and dignity befitting an officer. Yet, it took Nihlus a mere three days to drag her base instincts into the light. She’s questioning everything, just as she did shortly after enlistment. 

Where most would shy away, Nihlus has stepped closer, pushed harder. Instead of reprimands and disapproval, he’s given her _praise._ The worst part is, she’s starting to like it. She sips the bottle again, fails in her attempts to avoid thinking of his hands on her. 

Nihlus had a “show, don’t tell” approach to teaching. He’d adjusted her motions and posture, spared no detail in reforming her fighting position. His hands roved to adjust her stances as he had her practice punches and kicks. 

A hand on each of her shoulders, _“You lean too far forward, making it easy to knock you off balance. Bear back a little.”_

A grasp on her waist, _“Put your weight back on your dominant foot and center yourself like...this.”_

A lingering grip to her elbow, _“You throw yourself hard into your punches. Don’t let your aggression compromise your control. Use the anger, but hold a little back. See how this feels better?”_

Typically, she wouldn’t have allowed it. Those touches were too close for comfort, too intimate for a stranger’s hands… But there was a certain ease in the way he did it. It was refined, guiding, gentle yet firm. His eyes never shifted away, nor did they linger too long in any one place. She felt respected, felt _safe._

She shivers, thinking of the warmth of Nihlus’ hand on her face. She takes a long swig of bourbon, tries to drown the feeling away, stares at the side of the porcelain bathtub. Hope _._ That’s the feeling lying beneath the anger, under all of the doubt and fear. The slippery process of chasing down a rogue Spectre to ward off a potential war aside... she’d almost forgotten how good hope feels. Jane silently toasts the next sip to a new partner, maybe even a new friend. Time loses its meaning as she dwells on memory, mind slipping to the alcohol taking hold of her. 

* * *

The alarm clock on Jane’s side of the room goes off uninterrupted, the screech echoing against the hotel walls. 

“For the love of the Gods, shut that thing up already,” John groans. 

No reply. The alarm blares on. He rubs his eyes, looks over at her bed. The sheets are immaculate, the corners of the duvet still tucked tight to the sides of the mattress. Either she left already and forgot to turn the alarm off, or she spent the night somewhere else. The latter variable seems unlikely, considering Jane is far from the promiscuous type. He gets up and slams the flat of his palm against the clock’s off button with a little more aggression than necessary. 

He stumbles drowsily into the bathroom. He wishes he could say the sight of Jane asleep in an empty bathtub is an unfamiliar sight, but that’s far from true. Her head rests slack against the tile, soft snores flowing out of her open mouth. A half-empty bottle of liquor rests loosely in her hand, slung over the side of the tub. This is one of her bizarre habits, and an old one. She only does this when something--or several things, rather--are gnawing under her skin. He has his own share of unhealthy coping mechanisms, but he gets anxious seeing her leaning on a crutch like this. He makes a note to draw her into talking about it later and heeds the call of mischief creeping into his mind. 

She looks just a little too peaceful; he might as well rip off the proverbial bandage. He indulges himself in a low chuckle as he pulls the shower knob and turns on the cold water. It sprays her right in the face. She yelps and her eyes snap open. A bolt of biotic blue flickers over her, fading as quickly as it came. 

“Oh, you fucking bastard!” she howls. 

He can’t help his head falling back with spluttering laughter. He takes a mental snapshot of her face contorted in outrage, wet hair clinging to her cheeks. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, still wheezing with laughter. “That was priceless!” 

She shuts the water off, shivering and glaring into his eyes. 

“Ugh, remind me to never share a room with you again,” she says. “What time is it?” 

He keeps snickering, unable to shake the hilarity. “0730. Ah _fuck,_ I should have gotten a video. Absolute comedy gold.” 

It’s immature, he knows, but goddamn she makes cheap pranks fun. It’s worth her inevitable retaliation. 

“Wicked, rotten brother,” she grumbles to herself, then points a finger at him. “Laugh it up, Johnny boy! I know where you sleep.” 

“Always with one eye open, sis.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Get out, I’m apparentlytaking a shower,” Jane says, wringing out the front of her shirt. 

The liquor bottle clanks against the floor as she sets it down. He chuckles with every step out, the door clicking shut behind him. 

He hums softly as he eyes the miniature coffee machine on the counter. He opens a package of coffee grounds, takes a lingering sniff to assess whether the roast is weak or too strong. Hotel room coffee is always cheap and leans one of those two directions. It requires a delicate hand to make it bearable. He takes his time, measures each scoop of grounds methodically. The machine looks like it’s seen better days, sputtering and hissing as it brews. 

“Me too, buddy,” he says. “We’ve all been through some shit, huh?” 

“Please tell me you’re not talking to the coffee machine again!” Jane shouts through the bathroom door. 

He answers with a drawn-out, “Noooo...” 

He doesn’t hear a response, but he can imagine the eye roll and subsequent scoff. 

The coffee machine groans a weak, sad little sound. 

“You’ve got this, little fella. I believe in you,” he says. 

The door clicks open. Jane has a tube of eyeliner tucked between her fingers like a cigarette, toying it around as she makes the final touches to her five minutes’ worth of makeup. 

“Why are you like this?” she asks, sarcasm thick enough to taste. 

He shrugs and fills two paper cups with black coffee, striding over to offer one. 

“Peace offering,” he says, smiling. 

She scowls as she takes it. “You’ll still pay for that later. For now, we’ve got a Spectre to incriminate.” 

He nods, sipping from his own cup. He listens intently as she briefs him on the day’s itinerary. Pair up into two teams, split up to chase down leads, meet back at the embassy with intel. She explains each lead, elaborating on background, questions to ask, what angles to pursue, and so forth. 

“Dealer’s choice on who you take and who you want to shake down. Should be one day’s work if things pan out,” she concludes. 

He thinks it over, mulling on the cherry accent to the coffee. “I’ll talk to Barla Von. Alenko can come with.”

Jane raises a brow at him, smirking. “Don’t feel like arguing semantics with the cops?”

“C-Sec seems fine, but I _have_ to know what warrants the title of ‘Shadow Broker.’ It’s such a pretentious name, y’know?” 

“Fair enough. Any particular reason you’re going with Alenko?” 

John shifts his weight from foot to foot. “Not at all,” he says, too quickly. “Any reason you and Nihlus are suddenly joined at the hip?” 

She purses her lips and clutches her coffee to her chest. “Ooh, deflecting. Don’t tell me you _like_ him.” 

_Shit, shit, shit, run away, John. Abort mission!_

“What are you, twelve?” 

“With you, always,” she says, smiling. “Refusing to answer the question, hm? Got a little crush on the Lieutenant?” 

“Doesn’t matter. Fraternization is--” 

She raises a hand. “I know, I know, save the speech. You know, Nihlus told me the turians don’t have those regs? Makes you wonder.” 

“We’re not the turians. Rules are rules, Jane. I can’t go around carrying a torch for every handsome officer I serve with,” he says. 

He grasps for justification. Kaidan--no, _Alenko_ \--is a capable soldier. He’s a talented biotic with a level head on his shoulders. That’s all he is, that’s all there is to focus on. 

His calm, steady attitude hits the floor with her next words. 

“I remember a certain nineteen-year-old brother of mine that felt differently,” Jane says, smirking. 

He starts picking at the threads of his shirt hem to steady the sudden shake in his hands. What the hell does she want him to say, to do? Why dig up the past like this? 

“That was... that was a long time ago. I was a kid back then,” he murmurs. 

He meets her eyes when he feels her hand, gentle on his forearm. 

“Hey,” she says. “I’m sorry, that was a cheap shot. I was just teasing you, I didn’t mean to--” 

“It’s fine,” says John, a sharp tone creeping into his voice. “Let’s not tempt fate. I’ll take Williams.” 

“Don’t be so superstitious. Take Kaidan, and relax. I won’t bring this up again.” 

He nods, forcing a smile. She didn’t mean it, but he feels like there’s a gaping wound splitting right down the middle of him, open for all the world to see. He has to be better than that, has to have better control of himself. He learned a long time ago how quickly a pretty face can put you in a very uncomfortable situation. 

“Don’t wanna keep Nihlus waiting. I’ll meet you at C-Sec after I grab the LT,” he says. 

It’s a brisk walk down the hall, a quick rap of knuckles against the door. 

The minute the door opens, there’s a salute soon followed by a polite, “Would you like to come in?” 

The longer he looks at those whiskey-brown eyes and listens to Kaidan's smoky voice, the louder his mind screams, _be careful, this one is trouble._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally building ~tension~  
> Ah, I'm excited to get things moving along :')


	17. The Injury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Kaidan set out to find Wrex, but things don't go as expected.

John had guessed Kaidan would be the quiet type. He carries himself with that kind of stoic posture, all poise and dignity, the “speak when spoken to” officer. Yet, after a few situational quips and coordinated efforts at small talk, there’s a subtle lowering of Kaidan’s shoulders, a slightly more relaxed tone to his voice. Cracks in form and procedure start to show; slipping into subtle absent habits, like the way he scratches the edge of his left eyebrow when he’s about to give an opinion. He starts making little comments about the Citadel’s scenery, voicing snippets of thought toward fountains, shops, and circumstance. John is glad for it. Tense, impersonal atmosphere makes his skin crawl. Growing up in the Reds, people said what they thought, remiss of formalities. Jane still acts like it, even if John adapted to act according to his status. If there’s anything he misses about those days, it's the uncut honesty. Kaidan relaxing enough to voice opinions and idle thoughts allows him to breathe easier, take each step a little lighter. 

Barla Von is surprisingly forthcoming with the information they need, sending them on their way to find a krogan mercenary. He mulls over the intel as he steps through the elevator doors. How does one approach a krogan, anyway? 

Kaidan breaks his thought process with, “So this Shadow Broker… What do you think?” 

“I think it sounds like a hell of a job to have. If he even exists. Could just be a widely believed urban legend that someone is exploiting,” John says. 

Kaidan leans back against the elevator wall, face pensive before he smirks a little. 

“Probably sits in a dark room all day, behind some desk, rubbing his hands together, thinking of world domination. Sounds boring to me.” 

“Like a movie villain?” John chuckles. 

Kaidan shrugs, smiles, looks at his feet for a minute. “Maybe I watched too many spy vids with Jenkins. Those really old ones from the 20th, James Bond, I think it was.” 

John can’t hold back a grin. “I read those books.” 

“Oh, I see how it is,” Kaidan says, sarcasm thick. 

“Oh hell, please don’t think I’m one of  _ those _ people,” John says, flushing. “I just read a lot. See, my mom… She left me this big box of vintage books. Real paper, practically falling apart. They were all I ever knew of her, really.” 

“What happened?” Kaidan asks, hastily adding, “I don’t want to overstep.” 

“You’re not,” John murmurs. “She died shortly after I was born. It was just me and Jane, growing up. My father was killed on Shanxi.” 

“That’s…” 

John gives him a weak smile as the elevator door slides open. “Forget about it. You don’t need me dumping the sob story on you.” 

“I didn’t say I minded,” Kaidan says. 

He stares at him for a minute before stepping out. There’s this gentle expression in Kaidan’s eyes, something other than the pity he’s used to--something fiercer, but he can’t quite put his finger on it. 

“I don’t talk about it much. Ah, shit...” he says, eyeing their surroundings. 

“Looks like you took the wrong elevator,” Kaidan says. “This is the market district.”

He winces. Trying to salvage his dignity, he shrugs with an open-armed, dramatic posture. “Nah! We’re taking the scenic route, that’s all!” 

Kaidan looks like he’s trying not to laugh. “Whatever you say, Commander.” 

“Always had a lousy sense of direction,” John grumbles. 

They walk on, past the markets and crowds, to a quiet area beneath the stairs, when the distinctive sound of a suppressed gun resonates in his ears. It’s a muted  _ pop _ sound echoing across the walls, followed by a heavy impact sensation. Biotic barriers flare up on instinct, flickering weakly as pain takes over and his focus scatters. His gaze darts around wildly in search of his assailant when Kaidan seizes hold of him to jerk him around the corner into cover. John pants as he narrows down the source of the pain, reflexively pressing his hand to the wound. It’s a white hot sting between his neck and shoulder. He clutches onto the injury, clenching his teeth and hissing at the sensation. Kaidan maneuvers him to sit on the floor, his back to the wall. He presses his feet hard to the floor to ground himself while Kaidan lifts his hand away to examine the wound. John stares blankly at the blood on his fingers. 

The Lieutenant keeps glancing over his shoulder, trying to keep eyes on the attackers.    


John breathes out in shock, “I’m shot. Who...?” 

“Yeah,  _ shit. _ Assassins, two turians. I’ll bet Saren sent them. Try to keep calm,” Kaidan whispers.

He grits his teeth and tries to get back on his feet. “That’s a bet even I wouldn’t take. They’re going to be on us any second, we’ve gotta--” 

Kaidan pushes him back down by his good shoulder. “No, keep still. I can handle them, Commander.” 

A cocktail of anger, adrenaline and shock rise in his throat. He grasps again for a foothold, pain radiating through his arm with every jarring movement. 

“I can fight,” he says, reaching for his sidearm. “I’m a goddamn Shepard, I--” 

“You’re in no condition to fight. You get your heart rate up, you’re gonna bleed faster. You need medical attention. Let me handle this,” Kaidan says, brows furrowed into a stern expression. 

“If I had a credit for every time a combat medic told me I was in no condition to fight... Well, I’d have four credits, but... There’s only two, and they’re fucking lousy shots. Let’s take the bastards down.” 

“Shepard, you’re injured. Don’t risk making things worse. Sit this out, I. Can. Handle. Them.” 

John nods. He wants to argue, stand up, and send Saren’s men back to the hell they came from, but the resolve in Kaidan’s face freezes him in place. The searing pain from the wound echoing into his chest forces him to loosen his hold on his pistol. 

The Lieutenant takes a deep breath and says, “Shouldn’t take long.” 

John grabs his arm. “Hey. Careful, LT.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

John shifts his weight, scooting awkwardly to the corner’s edge in an effort to watch the Lieutenant’s back. He groans through the pain and grasps his pistol tight. Nobody else dies on his watch,  _ ever.  _

Kaidan is on them like a rabid dog, brown eyes now blazing blue. He dances in and out of cover, pacing himself and wearing the targets down with a mixed-technique fight style similar to his own. Seeing the L2 in action is nothing short of inspiring, in a gruesome kind of way. He unloads five rounds into one of them, the last shot knocking out the assassin’s kinetic shielding. The sheer force of a biotic throw results in a sickening crunch of breaking bone, the turian’s leg bent at an unnatural angle. The nonhuman howls in pain for a brief moment before he takes a slug between his eyes. Kaidan overloads the other’s gun before he fires, the beeping of the heat monitor resonating on the walls. John counts eight rounds before the turian goes down. 

Kaidan pants as the aura of his biotics dissipates, the blue fading from his eyes. 

“Alright, so you weren’t kidding. Nice work,” John says. 

He turns his head to look at him and instantly regrets it, feeling like he’s just plunged a hot knife into his neck. 

“I’ll call a medevac.” 

“We passed a... _ gah,  _ fuck _... _ a clinic on the way here. Not far.” 

The gnawing pain is starting to make him dizzy. He can’t blink the bleary sensation out of his eyes; it’s a struggle to keep his vision focused. He finds himself staring blankly into the distance. Kaidan is talking, examining the injury with gentle fingers, but it feels distant, surreal, like a lucid dream. 

“Shepard, hey!” Kaidan says, panic laced in his voice. 

“Hmm?” 

“I said you’re losing a lot of blood and you’ve got to get up. What’s your blood type?” 

“Right,” he says, clenching his teeth harder. “B positive. Fits, right? Cuz I like to… be positive.” 

“Try to stay focused, alright?”

“Relax, I haven’t lost it just yet. Pain is just making me dizzy. Come on, that was a good joke.” 

“I don’t recall protocol saying I’m required to laugh at your bad jokes,” Kaidan deadpans. “We’ve got to get you some help, fast.” 

John smiles. “C’mon, I’m a funny bastard. Gods, I’m gonna get Saren for this if my sister doesn’t get her hands on him first.” 

“There’ll be time for that later. Let me help you up.” 

His pride gets the best of him, thinking about the ease with which Kaidan took the assassins out, about how goddamn stupid he feels for not wearing armor, for being blindsided when he’s always so careful... Then there’s anger at the inconvenience, the  _ pain.  _

“I’ve got it. I can stand. I can--I can walk,” he says, shaking his head. 

Kaidan scoffs and reaches an arm around him. He’s very warm, all lithe muscle and heat, and it’s definitely not the time to be thinking about him that way. 

_ Goddamn it, John, why do you always want what you can’t have?  _

With the bitter mix of pain, wounded dignity, and shame, he lashes out. 

“Fucking hell, Alenko, I told you I’ve got it! I’m a... a marine, I outrank you. If I can survive a motherfucking thresher maw trying to kill me, I can walk off  _ one  _ gunshot to the shoulder!” 

“First of all, it’s your trapezius muscle, second--”

“I said to stow it, Lieutenant!” he growls, shuffling to his feet. 

He gets up way too fast, jars his arm, catches the sight of his own blood painted across his shirt. The heat screaming through his neck is too much, too fast. His vision goes black. 

“Shit,” he murmurs, right as he gets the sensation that he’s falling, careening down through the air into oblivion. The husky tone of Kaidan’s voice, the sticky blood, the raging sting in his flesh... It’s all so far away. 

* * *

He wakes up to white lights overhead and sharp chemical scent flooding his senses. He squints, grasping for a hold to sit up. He rubs his eyes in effort to shake the sudden woozy feeling, like his head is too heavy for his neck to support. 

“W-what happened? Where am I?” he says, squinting as his vision clears. 

Kaidan leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “It’s a hospital. You were shot.” 

“I remember that part,” he says dryly. “Did I—pass out?” 

“Yeah, you shouted at me about how big and tough you are, and then dropped like a rock.” 

John rubs the back of his head. “My bad?” 

Kaidan chuckles softly and says, “Anyway, I carried you to the clinic. Dr. Michel patched you up with some medi-gel and aided in transferring you here for surgery. She wasn’t equipped to mend the deeper tissue. She ought to be in here in a few minutes to give you the rundown. How do you feel?” 

“I feel… Fine? Hmm… head feels funny,” he hums. 

“Painkillers,” Kaidan explains. 

John starts to ask if he’s told Jane what happened, when a doctor steps into the room. 

“Glad to see you awake, Commander,” she says. “I’m Dr. Chloe Michel. How are you feeling?” 

“Feeling… mm, lots of things. Head’s fuzzy, chest is a little tight…” 

“That’s to be expected. You’re still recovering from the anesthesia and the pain medicine has a few side effects.” 

“What’s the damage, doc?” he asks. 

“We were able to repair the muscle and tendon, and the round closely missed the bone. You’ll make a full recovery in two to four weeks, with proper rest and physical therapy,” Dr. Michel says. 

“Two to four—Am I fit for duty?” 

“Strictly non-combatant roles and nothing too strenuous, provided your supervising medical officer approves it. Are you right or left-handed?” she asks. 

“Ambidextrous,” he sighs. 

“That’s lucky. I’ll be handing you over to the care of Dr. Sanclienus. She’ll be in to see you shortly.” 

“Is that a turian name or…?” 

“Yes, she’s turian. Though, I assure you, she’s very knowledgeable about human physiology. In fact, she was in charge of your surgery. I merely assisted.” 

“Oh no, that’s not what I… I just may need to practice that name a few times,” he says with a small laugh. 

Dr. Michel smiles and says, “I’m sure she’ll understand.” 

“Your accent is really cute,” John blurts. “Ooh, say ‘omni-gel,’ please.” 

She blushes and says, “If you’ll excuse me, Commander. I have to get back to my clinic.” 

Kaidan raises an eyebrow. “Those painkillers are doing a number on you.” 

“Has anyone told my sister yet?” John asks, looking at Kaidan. 

“She’s on her way, Shepard.” 

John gives him a sidelong smirk. “Pretty people get to call me John,” he says, just as the turian doctor steps in. 

Kaidan clears his throat. “I, uh, don’t think that would be appropriate, Commander.” 

“Don’t be too hard on him, Lieutenant,” the doctor says, with a deep, age-worn voice. “He’s on quite the cocktail of medicine. His system is flooded with endorphins from the trauma and the anesthetic takes a while to fully wear off. Expect lowered inhibitions. Good afternoon, Commander Shepard. I’m Dr. Camna Sanclienus.” 

“Afternoon?” John asks. “It was morning this...um, morning.” 

“Well, it’s afternoon now. Getting shot is a time-consuming activity. Do you need me to contact your supervising officer?” 

“Complicated subject, no need to trouble yourself with it, doc,” Kaidan says. “We were both transferred into Captain Anderson’s service, but we’re assisting on a Spectre investigation. I’ll see that a report is filed.” 

“I see.” 

“The Spectre is my sister,” John says proudly. “Oh, and then there’s the other one. Big guy, he’s very uh… red? Come to think of it, so’s my sister.” 

Her mandibles flare as she chuckles and she says, “Trust me, there’s plenty of buzz going around about the shiny new human Spectre. Personally, I think people care too much. You ask me, Spectres are just glorified bounty hunters. Now, how do you feel, Commander? Any pain or stiffness yet?” 

John flexes his neck side to side. It only serves to make him feel dizzier. 

“Not yet. Hey, Dr. San...er, Sanc--what was it?” 

She shakes her head and says, “Sanclienus. But if you’re having trouble with the name you can just call me Dr. Camna until you get it. What do you need?” 

“I’m very thirsty.” 

“I’ll have the nurse fetch you some juice. A few calories could do you some good. Now, I’d like to go over your post operative care,” she says. 

“Hit me,” says John. 

“Been working on the Citadel since First Contact and I’m still getting used to these human turns of phrase,” she sighs. “You’ll make a full recovery, but you need to take care of it while it heals. You’ll experience moderate pain, bruising, and stiffness for the next week or two. Your medical officer will need to keep a close eye on it, and I’m filing an official mandate that you are not to engage in active combat for two weeks minimum. I’d like to keep you overnight to ensure no complications arise.” 

“Overnight? But I feel fine, and my mission is--”   


“Commander, I’m not asking. You feel fine because of the pain meds. Once those wear off, you won’t be so enthusiastic. Now, there’s always the small possibility you could have an adverse reaction to the blood transfusion, develop a post-op infection, suffer a blood clot, and so forth. It’s just a precaution. I know you soldiers think your work is more important than your health, but you're not invincible. All the armor, training, and biotics in the galaxy won’t change that,” she says, her round, ice blue eyes piercing right through him. 

“Fine,” he grumbles. 

“Keep an eye on him, doc,” Kaidan says, clad in a smug smile. “He’ll argue right up to the point he faints.” 

John rolls his eyes. “I did not  _ faint! _ ” 

“You fainted.” 

“I  _ passed out _ . From  _ pain.  _ Because I was  _ shot.  _ It’s not the same.” 

“It’s the same,” the doctor says dryly. “Now, the nurse can answer any questions you may have. Try not to get shot again. I’ll be around if you need me. Oh, and Lieutenant? Best of luck.”

“You totally fainted,” Kaidan says, the moment the door closes behind the doctor. 

John’s face flushes. “Don’t you dare tell my sister. She’ll never let me forget it.” 

“You know, I don’t think I will either. On a serious note... Shepard, please be more careful. That’s the second time I’ve carried you away seriously injured. I’d prefer not to see a third close call.” 

“I’m hard to kill, but I’ll try not to make a habit of it. I should have been prepared. Today was supposed to be simple, but this mission is too high-profile to act like things won’t go wrong. Gathering intel, I thought it was a milk run.” 

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Me too. Next time, we’ll keep our guard up. Go in packing armor and firepower. I guess there is one good side of this--it means we’re on the right track. Saren wouldn’t send assassins after you unless you had information that could jeopardize what he’s doing.” 

“Ooh, and you’re smart too,” John says, winking. “Any other surprises, Alenko?” 

He hopes to the high heavens that he isn’t mistaking the subtle blush rising in Kaidan’s cheeks. 

“That would be telling, wouldn’t it?” Kaidan says. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HUGE thank you to drladybird and FerusAurelius for consulting on the finer medical points of gunshot wounds to make this chapter possible. (Love you guys!)


	18. The Intel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane and Nihlus pay John a visit at the hospital

She’s fairly used to turning heads in a room. Half-drunk men and women in clubs often use words like ‘striking’ or even ‘foxy,’ as well as ‘intimidating.’ It’s a factor she’s learned to use to her advantage over the years, inviting glassy-eyed people on dance floors to inch closer, letting their bodies grace against hers, only to deftly slip the credit chits from their pockets and leave them lonely. In the old days, it meant food and shelter, sometimes for the first time in days. Now, it’s a practice she reserves for times of restlessness, when she wants to remember how it feels to be free; a reminder that she hasn’t lost her wild side. Striding around the Citadel as the first human Spectre, clad in armor that proudly asserts “N7” for all to see, with a turian at her side, people look at her differently. Instead of the smile given to a pretty woman in fatigues, people tend to regard an armored Spectre with an uneasy frown. Nihlus had assured her it’s simply the newness of it for some--the exciting controversy--and for others, it’s the fact that few other than C-Sec traipse around the Citadel in full combat gear. Armor and weapons in public typically mean C-Sec, Spectre, or on-duty military, few of which are popular in a civilian crowd. Jane feels the wary gaze most when she and Nihlus step into the hospital lobby, every eye locked on the two of them. People’s bodies subtly tense as if they’re ready to flee before a firefight breaks out. She sets her eyes forward on the receptionist and brushes past the people in line, shrugging off their discontented grumbles. 

“I’m John Shepard’s sister. Which room is he in?” she says tersely. 

The lavender-skinned asari at the desk frowns, drawing her facial markings downward. “I’m sorry, visiting hours are--” 

“It’s Spectre business,” Jane says, still testing the reach the title gives her. 

The receptionist’s eyes flit between Jane and Nihlus, giving pause before she says, “I see. Room forty-six, second floor, outpatient wing.” 

“Thanks,” Nihlus pitches in. “I assure you, we won’t cause any trouble.” 

The asari nods with a nervous smile as they walk away. 

“Enjoying your new authority, I take it?” Nihlus says. 

“Testing my limits. Some asshole shot my brother and I’d rather pull rank than pitch a fit,” she says. “Besides, if he has valuable intel, it _does_ count as Spectre business, doesn’t it?” 

“It was merely an observation. You’re free to act as you deem necessary. Just don’t make a show of personal attachment affecting your work,” he says. “Some could pinpoint it as a weakness, others could question your competence and priorities.” 

“Fine. But nobody, and I mean _nobody,_ gets between me and John. Not without a fight at least,” she says. 

He eyes her as they step onto the elevator and says, “Your cheeks flush a bit when you’re upset.” 

“So?” 

“I find it endearing,” he says, mandibles spreading in a soft smile. 

She can’t help the amused expression that crosses her lips. “Let’s stay focused.” 

“I am focused. You’re emotional.” 

“No, I’m--” 

“It’s perfectly natural. Working closely with a family member presents… certain challenges to objectivity,” he says. 

“I know how to put the job first.” 

“Do you? Say a situation arose where you had to choose between the life of your brother and another. Could you put your loyalties aside to act logically?” 

She clenches her teeth. “That’s not fair. Are you saying you have a problem with me and him working together? Because--” 

Nihlus raises a hand. “I’m saying to guard yourself. We’re treading into dangerous territory, and you have to put your feelings aside when you’re on-duty.” 

“Like you put your feelings aside when it came to Saren?” she counters, as they step out into the hall. 

His stride falters for a moment and a heavy silence rises in the air. 

“I shouldn’t have said that,” she sighs. “I’m sorry.” 

“It was a cheap shot, but a fair one,” he says, nodding. “No hard feelings... I suppose I crossed a line.” 

“Let me ask plainly… Do you take issue with John being a part of this mission?” 

“No. He comes highly recommended, and he’s the only one who possesses the knowledge from the beacon, knowledge which could prove useful, in time,” Nihlus says. 

“Okay. So you believe what he says about his… vision?” 

“I don’t disbelieve it. Do you?” 

“If John believes Saren’s objective is somehow related to the Protheans’ destruction, then so do I.” 

The room numbers count up gradually as they walk, the too-clean scent of hospital air filling her nose.

“So you like human blushes,” she says, trying to lighten the tension. 

“Yes. Other species blush, of course, but none quite so visibly, and well, pink. You seem especially prone to it.” 

“Well, I’m very pale, so it’s more noticeable. A genetic trait that goes with the red hair, just like my freckles.” 

“Your what?” 

She gestures to her speckled cheeks. “These.” 

“I see. Is that what human facial markings are called? I’ve been meaning to ask why some humans have them and others don’t. I wondered if it was cultural.” 

She shakes her head and says, “No, it’s a natural thing, just kind of a...genetic lottery, I guess? I’m not exactly an authority on physiology… Here we are, room forty-six.” 

She opens the door, watching a bright grin spread across John’s face. She’s relieved at the minor bandaging enveloping his shoulder. 

Alenko stands to salute, prompting Jane to nod and say, “Relax, LT.” 

He sits back down, leaning forward in a rather brooding posture. 

“There she is! Can you believe I got shot?” John says, gesturing with a bottle in his hand.

She frowns, crossing the room to the end of the bed. “No, I can’t. What the hell happened?” 

John purses his lips as his face grows serious. “We dressed in uniform instead of armor,” he explains. “Going to squeeze a little intel, I thought it was a milk run. What could go wrong?” 

“A lot, apparently,” Alenko says dryly. 

“Give me the rundown.” 

John gives an aloof shrug and says, “Got shot by two turians in a dark alley, what’s to tell?” 

She raises an eyebrow and turns to Alenko. “I’m assuming the docs didn’t do brain surgery too and scramble his mind?” 

“Ah, no. He’s still coming off the painkillers, so he’s been a little… uh, uninhibited. You should have seen him earlier,” he says. 

“Right. Has he started flirting yet?” she asks. 

Kaidan’s face puckers a bit. “You could say that.” 

“Don’t take it too personally. He’s always been like that. Two legs and a pulse seems to be the general criteria,” she says. 

It’s a small effort to keep him out of trouble and preserve their working relationship. It wouldn’t be the first time John’s promiscuous nature landed him under scrutiny. 

“I’m sitting right here, you know,” John says, fidgeting with the rim of the bottle he’s holding. 

“Drink your juice, Shepard,” Alenko says gently, adding, “I appreciate the uh, assurance, ma’am.” 

“No worries, Alenko. Tell me what happened.” 

“We were on our way to C-Sec, following a lead, when two turian assassins attacked us. Heavily armed, presumably sent by Saren. They blindsided us, but fortunately only winged Shepard near his shoulder. A few centimeters to the right, things would have been a lot worse. I took them down and carried him to Dr. Michel’s clinic. She patched him up and transferred him here for surgery.” 

“Damn it, we can’t afford close calls like this. Wait… you carried him? Did he hit his head or something?” 

“Kaidan, please,” John says, wincing. 

“He uh, passed out,” says Alenko. 

She smirks. “You’re kidding. John, he’s joking, right?” 

“Of course he is,” John says, biting his lip. 

“You’re still a bad liar. You _fainted,”_ Jane says, grappling with the disbelief that her brother, the sole survivor of Akuze, _fainted._

“Oh, here we go again…” Alenko mutters. 

“I did not! I passed out! Because I got shot! Blood loss or something.” 

The lieutenant shakes his head. “Respectfully, I doubt that. You’d have to lose quite a bit of blood before--ah, sorry ma’am, he and I have been over this a couple of times. I think his pride was more wounded than anything else.” 

“My pride would be fine if you two just let it go,” John says, glowering at her. 

“Drink your juice, John,” she says with a chuckle, sitting down at the foot of his bed. “You might faint again if you don’t.” 

He lands a light kick to her back, giving the full stink-eye now. 

Nihlus folds his arms. “Saren has several contacts, hiring a pair of assassins certainly wouldn’t be a challenge for him. I’ve always known him to do his own dirty work, so to speak, but given the circumstances, it’s not out of the question. C-Sec ought to have retrieved the corpses by now. I suggest reaching out to them for possible evidence found on the bodies.” 

“It’s a start,” Jane says. “What did you find out from Barla Von?” 

“Quite a bit. Saren has had recent dealings with the Shadow Broker, and apparently, he double-crossed them. He pointed us to a krogan named Wrex, the Shadow Broker’s hired muscle,” says Alenko.

“I’m aware of Saren’s involvement with the Shadow Broker. It’s been a longstanding exchange of valuable information. I’ve done business with them myself, a time or two. Saren wouldn’t betray their agreement lightly,” Nihlus says, mandibles clenched tight to his face. 

“Barla Von said something similar,” John says. “He implied C-Sec had the krogan in custody.” 

“Somehow, I doubt C-Sec could easily detain a krogan mercenary,” Nihlus says. “I imagine he’s on his way to his target, but we could try to track him down.” 

“It’s definitely a solid lead. Good work,” Jane says. “What’s your recovery time, John?” 

“Two weeks minimum with physical therapy,” he says bitterly. “Non-combatant only for the duration. They’re keeping me overnight for observation, just in case.” 

She nods. “It could be worse. Could I have a minute alone with him?” 

After Kaidan and Nihlus step out, she lets her cool facade down and leans forward to smack the back of John’s head. 

“Ow, what--”

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” she shouts. “We’re working a high-profile mission against _a rogue Spectre_ that’s already proven himself murderous, and you’re prancing around with no armor? You’re better than that!” 

“I thought--” 

“I don’t _care_ what you thought! You put yourself and Alenko in harm’s way! From now on, you’re on duty, following my lead, _wear your fucking armor!_ ” 

“Okay,” he says softly, gazing at the floor. 

She sighs and takes her glove off to hold his hand. “You scared the hell out of me. You’ve got to be careful. You’re all I’ve got, John.” 

“I know,” he says, squeezing her hand. “C’mere.” 

He pulls her tight, tucking her head under his chin. 

“It was stupid, and it won’t happen again. I’ll be back on my feet in no time, okay?” 

She nods, listening to his steady heartbeat for a moment before wiggling out of his grasp. 

“Alright, that’s all the touchy-feely shit you get for a while,” she says, smiling. 

“I take what I can get. Damn, this shoulder is really starting to hurt,” he says, flexing his neck side to side. 

“I’m sure you can puppy-eye the nurse into giving you some more painkillers.”

“Don’t think I won’t try,” he says, mischief in his blue eyes. 

She sighs and says, “One more thing. Go easy on Alenko, I’m pretty sure he’s straight.” 

“I have my doubts. But you know the regs. I’m just messing with him while I can get away with it.” 

“He seems to have a level head on his shoulders, good temperament,” she says. 

“I’m better off leaving it alone. Besides, we’re the Shepard twins. We’re all we need, right?” 

“Maybe so,” she hums. 

“Now get going. You have a rogue Spectre to catch, I have juice to drink before the nurse blows a gasket. He keeps ranting about biotics needing more calories than the average person, like I don’t already know,” John says. 

She eases to her feet, armored boots landing heavily on the laminated floor. 

Alenko stops her on the way out, and says, “Commander, if it’s alright with you, I’d like to stay here with him. Someone should stand guard in case Saren sends somebody to finish the job.” 

“Good idea. Switch with Williams halfway through. I need you at your best, so you’ll need to rest at some point.” 

“Aye aye, ma’am,” Kaidan says, dutifully taking his seat again. 

She catches the starry-eyed smile on John’s face before the door closes. 

_Leaving it alone, my ass._

“Alright. Off to C-Sec to catch a krogan,” she says to Nihlus. 

“Lunch first,” the turian asserts. 

“Seriously? Time’s wasting.” 

“When’s the last time you ate something besides military rations?” 

She thinks about it, a little longer and harder than ideal. “I don’t actually know.” 

“Then we’re getting lunch. I know a cafe here on Aroch ward. Won't take long. Physical needs come first if you’re going to do a decent job of anything.” 

A hot meal does sound appealing, now that he brings it up. 

“Fine. But we hurry.” 

“I wouldn’t have it any other way. After all, we have a packed schedule.” 

She smiles at him in the elevator. 

“We make a good team, you know,” she says softly, brushing her hair back. 

“That we do, peach. When you’re not arguing with me.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a week! Had to get tested for COVID-19, never been happier to have the flu. Constructive criticism welcome for this chapter especially, considering I was a tad loopy on cough medicine when I wrote it.


	19. The Breakthrough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane and Nihlus meet Garrus by happenstance, and find that a certain krogan has beat them to Chora's Den. They have to convince Wrex to let them talk to Fist before it's too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important author's note! I'm a bio-sciences major, so I have issues with the levo-dextro dilemma. While it doesn't bother me too much in canon/other people's fics, including it in my own work really bugs me, so I've elected to write it in a manner more compliant with biochemistry. Hence, levo-dextro allergies are not a thing in this fic.

The lunch crowd drones around them. People talk and laugh on shared breaks as intermingled scents of food waft in the air. It’s a bustling multiracial cafe. A few tables are seated by different races intermingling, but the human diners seem to keep to themselves. It’s disappointing to see the distinctive separation, but unsurprising. They’re still new to the galactic community and there’s hesitation to integrate on both sides. 

Nihlus’ nose crinkles when she sits down with her plate. 

“What… the hell is that?” he asks. 

“Cinnamon pancakes,” Jane says happily. 

“It smells too sweet to be edible.” 

“It’s very popular among humans. Usually, it’s a breakfast food, but I wanted it. I haven’t had pancakes since the last time John made them… Two, three years ago?” 

“Is it healthy?” 

She shrugs. “Probably not. But it’s high in calories, and these are protein fortified. I asked specifically. Biotics and all. Besides, I have a sweet tooth.” 

“A _what_?” 

“A sweet tooth. It’s another human term, meaning I really like sugary food,” she says, taking a bite and letting out a satisfied hum. “Damn, that’s good. You want to try it?” 

He shakes his head. “Levo food never tastes right to me, and I’ve heard human food can be a bit overwhelming.” 

She sips her coffee and twirls her fork around in her fingers. It seems as good a time as any to ask questions, now that they’ve taken a moment to breathe amid the hectic day. 

“Speaking of sweet food…,” she says, “What’s with you calling me _peach_ of all things?” 

Nihlus looks up from his plate and cocks his head slightly. 

“It’s an endearment, is it not?” 

“I suppose it qualifies. It’s just a little odd,” she says. 

“Do you dislike it?” 

She chews the inside of her lip a moment. The bitter aftertaste of mediocre coffee lingers in her mouth as she mulls it over. 

“I did at first. Honestly, now I’m kind of attached to it. I just want to know what your logic is. It’s weirdly specific,” she says, smiling shyly, “and I’m curious. That and... I’m not used to nicknames from anyone but my brother. So, explain.” 

“I’ve overheard a number of humans call each other food names. I found it charming.” 

“Such as?” 

“I’ve heard ‘pumpkin,’ ‘honey,’ ‘sugar’... It seemed to be a traditional practice, and I quite liked it.” 

“Okay, that makes a lot more sense,” she chuckles, taking another bite of her pancakes. “Though those people are usually either related or romantically involved, just so you know. That’s another reason it threw me off. So how’d you arrive at ‘peach?’” 

“Extranet search,” he says dryly. 

She snorts. “You’re kidding.” 

“No, I’m not.” 

She laughs a moment and says, “I’ll allow it. Though you should probably know it’s not a typical term of affection. Maybe keep it between us.” 

His mandibles flare into a smile that brings a soft gleam to his round eyes. 

“Understood… peach.” 

Knowing the peculiar reasoning behind the name, the special effort that went into it, a warm sensation spreads through her chest. Great, less than a week on the job and he’s got her feeling sentimental. Maybe it’s just been too long since someone cared like that. She studies his face, eyes roving over the white lines of paint, pondering the cultural significance of the intricate design. 

“You’re staring,” he says, green eyes snapping up to meet hers. “Is there something else you want to ask?” 

“Sorry, I don’t mean to. Just wondering about your face paint.” 

“Ah. Turian colony markings. They’re traditionally tattooed, not painted. I got mine for the Palavenian city I trained in, though most correspond to one’s birthplace,” says Nihlus. 

“Why don’t yours?” she asks. 

“It’s a long story,” he says, sighing. 

“I don’t mean to pry into your personal business,” she says. 

His mandibles twitch. “I don’t mind. One day, I’ll tell you. But in the midst of everything happening right now, there’s no sense stirring up the past.” 

There’s a cold sorrow in his tone, one she recognizes from her own voice. She wonders if there’s a painful history hiding behind his sophisticated, distant manner and the lines of white ink outlining his face. 

“I understand… More than you know,” she says sympathetically. 

She offers her cup of coffee. “Here, try this. It’s not exactly five-star coffee, but it’s good. I hear it’s increasingly popular here in Citadel space.” 

He takes it and peers into the mug skeptically. The cup looks comically small in his hands. He sniffs it before taking a drink, mandibles twitching outward twice as he seems to ponder the taste. 

“Interesting.”

“Good interesting?” 

“Hm, I’d say so.” 

“Want me to order you a cup?” she asks. 

“I’d like that. But if I end up being allergic to it, you’re the one that gets to explain the medical bills to the Council.” 

“Deal,” she laughs, trying to mask her horror at the idea. 

So, she gets up and retrieves him a cup of half-caf, considering his probable low tolerance to caffeine, making a mental note to warn him about it. 

Lunch goes on, short and sweet as they converse over different cultural elements, indulging each other in a few of their respective curiosities. She’s grateful for the chance to learn, finding turian culture more intriguing than she expected, considering most humans portray them as rigid and strictly militaristic. He in turn, seems baffled at the taboos humanity holds, especially in regard to social standards. It’s refreshing, standing on equal ground, sitting down for coffee and a hot meal, just talking without the constraints of form and protocol. 

She tidies her lunch tray and says, “If you think there’s time, I’d like to stop at Dr. Michel’s clinic to thank her for helping my brother. It’s on the way to C-Sec from here.” 

“I don’t see an issue with that,” he says, rising to his feet. 

* * *

Gunshots echo through the air, prompting her and Nihlus to sprint toward the nearby clinic. 

“Christ, is the Citadel always this prone to public shootings?” she mutters. 

“Not particularly,” Nihlus says, drawing his gun and signaling her at the door. 

She takes her position, but the room grows quiet as a final shot rings out. 

“Shit,” she whispers. “I’ll take point.” 

He nods, and she opens the door, aiming her pistol and eyeing the room. She relaxes at the sight of C-Sec armor, lowering her gun. 

“Clear,” she calls. 

“Garrus Vakarian. I believe we met already, Spectre Shepard,” the blue-armored turian says, adding politely, “Congratulations.” 

“Thanks,” she huffs. “Glad to be meeting sober.” 

“You’re a hard man to find, Vakarian. We were about to start shaking down drunkards for a lead on you, before more pressing matters caught our attention,” Nihlus says. 

“Well, if I’d known you were looking for me, I--” 

“Don’t concern yourself with it now. Running into you was a lucky break,” he says. 

"Not so lucky for Fist's men," Garrus says with a chuckle.

Jane glances around at the four bodies on the ground, red blood smeared across the floors and splattered on various surfaces. 

“Doc, it seems like a hell of a day for you. First my brother and now this mess. Who are these men?” 

“Your brother, right. Yes, it’s been a... quite a day indeed,” the plainly flustered doctor says, rubbing a bead of sweat from her forehead. 

“Take your time, doc. I know you’re scared,” Jane says. 

She listens intently as Dr. Michel thanks the three of them and explains the situation, with Garrus contributing helpful--and emphatic--comments. Sentence by sentence, the pieces to the puzzle interlock. A quarian on the run with potential evidence and a lackey for the Shadow Broker switching allegiances to Saren. It may be just what they need. 

Jane runs a hand through her bangs and says, “I guess that confirms our suspicions that the assassins John ran into were Saren’s men. I’ve known more than a few guys like Fist. Small-time crime lords hiding behind facades of business success. Probably launders credits through the bar. If he’s smart, he wouldn’t bite the hand that feeds. Not unless someone else either bought him out or threatened him in a meaningful way. If Saren sent him after the quarian, her evidence is invaluable to us.” 

“I agree,” Nihlus says. “Saren’s scared, attacking anyone with information that could implicate him with the geth or prove he was on Eden Prime. It’s messier than he usually operates, but if he’s desperate, it makes sense. What I want to know is what brought you here, officer. It was my understanding that C-Sec closed the case against Saren..” 

Garrus’ mandibles clench low on his face, and he says, “I’m… I wasn’t exactly authorized to pursue this further, but I _know_ Saren is dirty. I just can’t let him get away with all of this. I understand if you want to report to my superiors, Spectre, but please--” 

“No, you took initiative. C-Sec may take issue with this, but I don’t,” says Nihlus, folding his arms. 

“I’ll welcome anyone who wants to help us bring Saren down,” Jane says, looking to Nihlus tentatively for approval. 

The Spectre nods. 

Jane reaches out to shake the hand of the blue-marked turian, saying, “If you’re game, consider yourself on loan to the Spectres until further notice. We’ll inform C-Sec on your behalf.” 

“I’d like nothing more,” Garrus says eagerly, smiling in a way that almost looks shy as he firmly shakes her hand. “I’ve been thinking day and night about this case, and I had no intention of letting it go.” 

“Let’s pay a visit to Chora’s Den. I want to look him in the eye and drag every detail out of him. Saren made this personal when he went after my brother,” she says, fists clenching at her sides. 

Nihlus steps close to whisper, “One step at a time, Jane.” 

“We’re not the only ones going after Fist,” says Garrus. “There are murmurs that the Shadow Broker hired a krogan named Wrex to kill him.” 

“Then let’s hope we get there before our krogan pal gets his hands on him.” 

It’s a long, near-silent walk through the ward. 

Sure enough, there’s a krogan tearing through Chora’s Den when they arrive. Shotgun blasts and pistol fire fly through the air. There’s shouting and even the occasional shriek of pain from one of Fist’s guards. 

“So much for the element of surprise,” Garrus says. 

Nihlus takes cover by the door, peering in cautiously. “It’s a damned massacre. We’ve got to do something before he kills Fist.” 

“Right. Any suggestions on halting a krogan merc in his tracks?” Jane snarks. 

Nihlus surveys the room for a moment, and says, “Alright. The guards are condensing at the door in the back, so I’m guessing Fist is holed up in there. Let the krogan burn through these guards, and we’ll call out to him. He’s more likely to stop for you than me. I suggest a threat if you want to get his attention, but stay out of his line of sight. Watch yourselves.” 

She doesn’t quite catch on to what Nihlus means by that, but Jane nods, gripping her pistol and glancing past the doorway. “So we just… hang out here then. _Fun._ ” 

“You’d rather try to reason with a krogan in the middle of an active shootout?” 

“I’m gonna say the correct answer is ‘no’ on that,” she says. “Well, at this rate… There’s what, four guys left?” 

Nihlus’ brow plates lower. “Three now. Ooh, two. Second one went down hard.” 

“You sound like a sportscaster, talking like that, y’know,” Jane chuckles. 

“Oh, shush. Okay, _now_ , shout to him.” 

She bellows out, “Council Spectre! Halt or we’ll shoot!” 

The krogan turns, the wild look in his red eyes evident even from a distance. He shakes his head and lumbers toward them. She steps out and puts her hands up as a gesture of good faith, but keeps a tight clutch on her gun. 

“I’m not trying to get in your way, but your target has information we need,” she says, planting her feet hard to steady herself. 

Standing in the face of the immense, battle-hardened krogan, her mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton, base flight or fight instinct begging her to shoot him, turn tail and run, anything to put some distance between herself and Wrex. She shoves it to the wayside, thinks of the corpses on Eden Prime, the painful recovery John has ahead of him, the soft tremble that ran through Nihlus when Saren insulted him, and she uses it to focus on her objective. Fear doesn’t matter, only stopping Saren. 

“What’s your interest, human?” the krogan says. 

“Wrex, is it? I’m Shepard, these are my associates Nihlus Kryik and Garrus Vakarian.” 

“Spit it out. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m kinda busy here,” Wrex says, voice low and menacing. 

She stands her ground. “We’re trying to bring down Saren. Fist might know something.” 

“I’ve been hired by the Shadow Broker to kill him. Spectre or not, you can’t stop me. I don’t leave jobs unfinished.” 

She shrugs. “From what I hear, he’s a bully and a coward. Do whatever the hell you want with him, _after_ we question him. Deal?” 

The krogan chuckles. “You’ve got a quad on you. Claiming authority, showing up with turian muscle, looking me in the eye, and making demands. You’ve got yourself a deal, so long as you don’t stand between me and my contract.” 

Jane puts a hand on her hip. “Let’s do this thing.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Follow me on tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/vampirepunks) for WIP rambles and content related to Nihlus/Shepard Twins. It's a party every day.


	20. The Disarray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaidan reflects on the last few days, questions his relationship to Shepard, and testifies before the Council.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, Kaidan POV! Enjoy our boy having a gay crisis.

Shepard snores.  Not the kind of loud sawmill snore that shatters the peace and quiet, but the endearing soft sort of snore, with restful hums and sighs from time to time. Kaidan gets up for what has to be the tenth time, peers out of the room to scope out the hallways. It’s been a quiet night thus far, but he keeps his pistol close and his senses sharp.  Hospital security is probably competent, but they’re not trained to deal with well-armed assassins. Letting his commanding officer get killed in his sleep wouldn’t be the brightest career move. If that isn’t enough motivation, Shepard is a likable comrade. He’s thoughtful, and funny, in that awkward, can’t-hate-the-guy kind of way.  At first, he’d struck him as the typical duty-oriented Alliance hardass, but that stopped being the case when they’d started work on the Citadel.  Shepard has a knack for asking personal questions without being invasive or overly casual, the kind of inquisitive nature that’s comfortable to answer to. That is, when he’s not sky-high on painkillers. Then… Well, he’s kind of an ass. And the flirting? Kaidan has no idea how to respond to that, for several reasons. Best not to think about it too hard or take it personally, as his sister said. He should let it go, but overthinking is his primary weakness. He’s not sure he likes the lines of thought running through his head. Kaidan is cautious,  first and foremost. “Hope for the best but prepare for the worst” is a personal slogan. Before Eden Prime, he always took a second glance before firing his gun or attacking with biotics. He never hurried into a decision, which often opened him up to criticism for being “too careful.” He never believed that was something a person could be. There’s surety and safety, and then there’s recklessness.  Maybe it’s a black and white way to look at the world, but he was comfortable with it. At least, until Jenkins died. Now he doesn’t know what he believes.  The Shepard twins are known throughout the Alliance for lack of hesitation; people say they’re codependent, lethal, and idealistic.

Between Eden Prime and Shepard, he’s left to question everything he knows about himself. But then there’s Shepard expressing interest in him. Despite Shepard’s state at the moment, Kaidan just doesn’t know how to feel about it.  There's protocol, and to make matters worse, it has him doing uncomfortable levels of self-reflection. Was Shepard’s prior interest in talking more than professional curiosity?

Hell, he hasn’t questioned his romantic interests since he was seventeen or so. It’s not like it’s a cultural taboo anymore, it’s just alarming to start asking himself if he likes men or not at thirty-two.  It’s easily defendable that something like this could have flown under his radar until now; he’s been steadily focused, sometimes consumed, by his work.  He hasn’t had a lot of time for dating--let alone experimentation--in between assignments. He brushes it off. There’s time to figure that out after this is over, with someone else. Someone who doesn’t have an aggressive Spectre for a sister, isn’t colloquially referred to as “Hackett’s golden boy,” isn’t a commanding officer, and… doesn’t have those eyes, blue and gentle, and... He cuts that thought pattern off right there. This is tiredness and stress talking, he reasons.

“Oh hell, I hope you’re happy,” he mutters to himself, looking at Shepard’s... _John’s_ \--no, definitely _Shepard’s_ sleeping face.

The man’s mouth is askance and his eyes closed tight.  He shakes with a rough flinch every couple of hours but doesn’t wake, making Kaidan wonder if Shepard has nightmares. He would, had he been through similar circumstances as the Commander on Akuze.  A damn bloodbath turned into an Alliance cautionary tale, and Shepard walked away only to return to duty, back for more.  The one time he had asked about it on the Normandy, Shepard had turned to ice right then and there,  just snapped at him and left. Nothing says “painful experience” more than a reaction like that. He gets it, in a way.  He used to feel that way about Brain Camp, before countless therapy sessions and learning to accept that he can’t change the past, so talking about it won’t make things worse.

Kaidan shifts in his chair. The hours of the Citadel’s night cycle are wearing him down. His wandering thoughts and weary eyes snap to attention when he hears the door slide open. His hand goes to his gun.

“Easy, LT. It’s just me coming to take over for you, sir,” Williams says.

Kaidan lets his muscles relax, stretching out his neck, mindful not to let tension spark a migraine.

“Right, sorry. Today was rough, so I’m a bit on edge, Chief,” he says softly, trying not to wake the Commander.

Williams picks up on his tone and lowers her voice as she says, “I would be too. Seems like Shepard has a knack for finding trouble.”

“So it seems. Stay sharp. I don’t think anyone is coming after him again, but you can’t be too careful,” Kaidan says.

She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Agreed. I’ll keep an eye out. Have you filed your report yet?”

“Yeah, I had the time,” he says, standing up from the chair.

“Good. In that case, go get some rest. I hear team Spectre got ahold of some evidence. They’re convening the Council in the morning,” Williams says.

Kaidan smiles. “You’re giving me orders now? I don’t think the chain of command works like that.”

Williams salutes. “ Just  a well-intentioned suggestion, sir.”

“Relax, Chief, I’m kidding,” he says, watching Shepard’s chest rise and fall with his breathing. “I’m headed out. I’ll see you both bright and early,” he pauses and asks, “Hey Williams… What do you think of the Commander? Genuine question.”

“He’s kind of a flirt, but professional otherwise. He doesn’t seem to share much about himself, though that's probably a career decision. Impressive service record, though.”

He nods. “Yeah. Good night, Chief.”

* * *

He wakes up with the usual hints that a migraine is steadily approaching.  The artificial sunlight streaming in is intense on his eyes and he’s hypersensitive to the sounds from neighboring rooms. So, he downs his meds and goes through his morning routine a bit slower than usual to stave it off. Migraine avoidance means no coffee, too.  Funny how that works, caffeine helps with existing migraines but sometimes contributes to new ones. If there is some omnipotent being behind the workings of the universe, they’re a bit cruel.

He makes it to Citadel Tower early.  Anderson and Udina are already with the Council, getting proprietary discussion out of the way for the meeting.  Shepard arrives right behind him, dressed in his armor this time, red and white N7 insignias proudly stating his status. Kaidan salutes on instinct.

“No need for that, Alenko.  I see we both learned from that unpleasant experience,” says Shepard, raising an eyebrow.

Kaidan chuckles, shifting his weight in his own armor. “I guess so. Good to see you out of the hospital, Commander.”

Shepard scoffs. “Good to be out. Gods, I hate hospitals. Way too clean.”

“How do you feel?”

“You want the professional response or the honest one?” Shepard asks.

“I’ll take honest. I’m a medic, after all.”

“Well, then  I feel like shit. My whole fucking arm is on fire. Better, but it’s a bitch.”

“Charming use of vocabulary, sir,” Kaidan deadpans.

“That’s what I’m good at,” he says.

“Where’s Williams?” Kaidan asks as it dawns on him that Shepard arrived alone.

“I turned her loose early this morning to go get some breakfast. I owe you both for looking out for me,” Shepard says, sitting on a bench.

“Part of the job, sir,” he says, sitting next to him, leaving enough space that someone could sit between the two of them.

_Distance, Alenko._

Shepard has other ideas, crossing his legs so his knee idly touches Kaidan’s. Whether he did it intentionally or not, he’s not sure, but the man doesn’t seem to notice or mind. Kaidan has to fight the urge to shift away, not wanting to make him uncomfortable. So, he sits still as a statue to avoid offending or inviting more.

“The ‘sir’ business can stop when it’s just you and me. You’re making me feel old,” says Shepard.

“Right, si--Shepard,” he says. “I am older than you, you know.”

Shepard smirks. “And don’t you forget it.”

Shepard sits up properly when his sister walks in.  Kaidan has started referring to her in his mind as “the other Shepard,” at least until he figures out an alternative title or gets to know her better  .  Perhaps  “Spectre Shepard” would be more appropriate? He’s not sure. Having two people of the same name and rank present is awkward as hell.  Whatever he calls her, she’s accompanied by Nihlus, Williams, another turian in C-Sec armor that's tall enough to make even Nihlus almost look short, a quarian, and a krogan that he assumes must be Wrex.

“Wow,” Kaidan breathes, as they stride near. “That’s quite a group.”

“My sister has always had a talent for finding superior firepower.”

The Spectre makes no room for formalities as she gestures to each member of her assembly, saying, “Alright, this is Wrex and Garrus. They helped us find Tali, who has definitive evidence that Saren is a traitor.”

She runs a hand through her red bangs and glances to Nihlus, as though she’s either seeking approval or inviting him to speak. The white-marked turian nods, prompting her to continue.

“We’ve made arrangements with the Council. This is a tribunal.  Tali is going to present her evidence, and then they’re going to call each of us forward to testify against Saren, to get a complete picture of the situation. When all of us have spoken, they’ll move forward with Nihlus and I. Everyone ready?”

Shepard chirps, “Aye aye, _Spectre Shepard.”_

There’s a gleam in his eye as he says it, and a slight roll of her green eyes in response.

“Yes ma’am,” Kaidan says, nodding.

“Alright. Everybody take a seat. You already know this is going to take a while.”

So they sit on their respective benches in awkward silence as the two Spectres and the quarian make their way up the stairs.

“Damn, I shoulda brought a book or something,” Williams jokes.

“I hear ya, Ash,” Shepard says.

Kaidan patiently waits his turn as Shepard, Williams, and the C-Sec officer are brought forward consecutively. He steadies himself when his name is called.

Standing beneath the Council, he feels small and insignificant.  These people have an entire galaxy of people to make decisions for, and this is his moment to protect those people from Saren.  He takes a deep breath and begins to speak, reciting the events on Eden Prime in military form, sparing no detail, ensuring his voice stays cool and unbiased.  He conceals the pain in talking about Jenkins’ death, how Williams lost her entire unit, and describing the carnage of the colony. The fact that Saren slipped right between their fingers adds insult to injury. _This time,_ he prays, to no one in particular. _This time, let us nail this bastard down._

The Council thanks him for his testimony and sends him on his way. A second deep breath as he descends the stairs with shaking hands. Jenkins didn’t die by Saren’s hand directly, but it’s personal regardless. Shepard puts a hand on his shoulder as he sits down next to him.

“You’re shaking, LT,” he says, soft enough that no one else can hear.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “It’s  just  a lot.”

“I know,” he says.  The statement is all empathy and grace, and for a moment…  just a moment, Kaidan lets himself look Shepard in the eye, wondering if he could find himself lost in that blue abyss, before he nods and breaks his gaze.

_Get out now, Alenko, if you know what’s good for you._


	21. The Quiet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tribunal against Saren comes to a close, with favorable results. Jane and Nihlus indulge in some mischief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy N7 Day everyone!

Nihlus stands as still as a statue after the Council calls them back. Even Udina and Anderson wait with bated breath for them to reveal their decision.  Jane chews furiously at the inside of her cheek, her eyes flitting between the Council and the three men standing on the platform with her.

Tevos poses with her hands behind her back, chin held high. Jane braces for bad news.

“It is the decision of this council that Saren Arterius was involved with the attack on Eden Prime with the aid of the geth. We have judged this as treason," the asari says, tone cool and calm.

Councilor Sparatus shakes his head, explaining that they're stripping Saren of his Spectre status and launching an effort to bring him to justice.

“Having recognized the other voice speaking with Saren, I had the recording analyzed. It additionally proves that Matriarch Benezia is involved,” says Tevos.

Nihlus folds his hands. “An asari matriarch is a significant ally. Her involvement is… suspicious, given the role matriarchs  are known  to adhere to.”

“Precisely,” says Tevos.

Councilor Valern speaks up about the Reapers, inquiring about what they know.

Jane lets Nihlus lead.  He’s far better at navigating political discourse, approaching with a deft hand where she’s  merely  a blunt instrument.

“Currently, we have suspicions, but nothing definitive,” Nihlus says, folding his arms behind his back.  “We speculate that Commander John Shepard’s vision from the Prothean beacon may have been alluding to these Reapers, but the geth memory core held no answers other than the recording submitted as evidence.  Our best conclusion is that the Reapers are likely some kind of synthetic life form responsible for the Prothean downfall. The evidence indicates that this may be how Saren forged an alliance with the geth. The implications are grim but uncertain.”

He nods for Jane to continue presenting.

Jane stops chewing her cheek and says, “We believe this ‘Conduit’ may be some kind of Reaper artifact or remnant technology.  We think if Saren is doing this much to attain it, it is an instrument of war.  Perhaps an advanced weapon. Saren and Benezia seem to believe it’s a way of bringing the Reapers back. In either case, it is dangerous.”

Sparatus comes back with a dismissive response, rebuking the idea of a rogue Spectre bringing back a race of ancient machines responsible for the Prothean extinction.

“Regardless of what this Conduit is, I know Saren’s methods. He will cut down anyone in his way to  obtain  it, and he’s proven his aggression toward humanity in particular.  He’s planning something more, and we can’t allow him to achieve his goals,” Nihlus says, mandibles twitching furiously as his tone starts to get away from him, voice low and accusatory.

“So Saren’s objective is unclear,” Valern says. “However, the Reapers are likely a myth. A convenient tale to bend the geth to his will.”

“It’s of no consequence,” Nihlus says, shaking his head. “If we find Saren, we can get the answers we’re looking for. Do we really need to argue over his motivations, or should I remind you he’s a rogue Spectre still on the loose? No matter what he’s doing, he’s proven himself an active threat.”

Sparatus comes back with another dismissal, arguing that without Spectre resources, Saren is a limited threat.

Jane takes a deep breath and says, “Do you  really  think he cares about titles or resources here? He’s skilled, trained, and has an army of geth at his disposal. That’s enough to wreak havoc wherever he goes.”

Udina growls out, “I’ve had enough of this! You know he’s somewhere in the Traverse, send your fleet in!”

Before the Council can respond, Nihlus says, “That’s not what we’re asking for, the Ambassador is getting carried away. The Spectres have a procedure in place for this. A Spectre goes rogue, you send another to bring them in or take them down.  Respectfully, Councilors, the appropriate course of action is clear.”

Tevos nods. “You are correct, Spectre Kryik,  however \--”

Sparatus interrupts her with, “Your personal history with Saren is problematic. Another Spectre will be assigned to handle the matter. Your involvement would only present a conflict of interest.”

Nihlus sinks a little at that, shoulders and head lowering. Seeing Sparatus repeatedly prod at him for his history with Saren is getting under her skin. She squares her shoulders and takes a step forward.

“Send me,” Jane says.  “I have no history with Saren, and I proved I’m capable of standing against him in a fight when I stopped him killing Nihlus.”

“Preposterous!” Sparatus says. “You’ve  barely  been a Spectre for more than a day, and already--”

Nihlus scoffs and says, “She can do it. I’ve seen her skills firsthand. She’s a capable biotic and a strong leader. You accepted her into our ranks, now let her have this as her first assignment. To honor our agreement, I will accompany her on the mission. It’s a fine opportunity for her to learn.  Besides… Sending a human Spectre after an attack on a human colony, it would be  advantageous  in improving Citadel relations with humanity, would it not ?”

“I agree with Nihlus,” Anderson says. “There’s no sense appointing a Spectre if you won’t use her. This is your chance.”

Udina pops off with some remark about giving humanity a harder time than other species, with “keeping our Spectre on a short leash.” He urges them to act further by sending a Citadel fleet to secure the Traverse.  It sparks an argument about a potential war with the Terminus systems, which devolves into accusatory remarks on both sides.

Amid the arguing, Jane catches Nihlus’ gaze, and she smiles amusedly. He shakes his head,  clearly trying to stifle a frustrated grin of his own. As important as the issue is, listening to them argue like this is amusing as hell.  Eventually, the discussion gets back on track.

“To conclude this meeting, I propose we accept Spectre Kryik’s recommendation,” Tevos says, glancing at the other two Councilors for approval. Sparatus is hesitant, but they seem to reach an agreement.

Tevos straightens her posture again and says, “It is decided. Spectre Shepard will be accompanied by  Spectre Kryik, and they are to pursue Saren. Shepard, you are to commandeer a ship, assemble a crew, and  depart  as soon as possible.”

She has to resist the urge to cheer and pump her fist right there. There’s an audible sigh of relief from Nihlus. His posture goes slack with the loss of tension, but he doesn’t smile.

Jane lets herself grin as they descend the stairs after the tribunal’s conclusion.

She sees John grab Alenko’s shoulder. “She’s smiling,” he says, stiffening in his seat. “Oh thank the gods, she’s smiling.”

She nods as the motley gang stands up, and says, “We’re going after Saren. Who’s in?”

There’s a quiet moment before John steps up and says, “I’m with you. Let’s make the bastard pay.”

“Hear, hear,” Alenko says.

The rest of them agree, and  just  like that, she’s got a squad. Not just any squad, but a diverse, capable group.  A turian on loan from C-Sec, a krogan mercenary, an L2 biotic, a fiery sole survivor of the Eden Prime marines, a quarian that outran Saren with damning evidence, and her brother and Nihlus at her side… She’s got a feeling these people could probably tear a hole in space-time with a coordinated effort.

“Alright, then. I’ll file the report on what we’ve accomplished here. I expect you to have read it. We take the day to prepare, and we’ll set out first thing tomorrow morning. For those of you requiring contracts or leaves of absence, I’ll see to it. You’re all dismissed.”

They go their respective ways, Alenko seeming hesitant to unstick himself from John’s side. _Interesting._

John lingers, waiting for the rest of them to go. She knows him well enough to brace for the crushing bear hug he pulls her into, armor clanking against armor. She feels him grin against her temple.

“I’m proud, Janey-bug,” he whispers.

“I know. Now get your sentimental ass off of me,” she says, unable to hold back a laugh.

“I’m going, I’m going. There’s still work to be done. Requisitions to place, yadda yadda. I’ll see you back at the room tonight,” John says, pacing backward as he talks.

Nihlus waits until they’re alone to pat her on the back and say, “Well done, peach. Now, I should see to that ship requisition. We’ve got a long road ahead of us.”

“Yeah,” she breathes. “I guess I’m still caught up in the rush. We’re  really  doing this.”

The turian nods wordlessly, uncrossing his arms as he turns to leave.

“Hey… Nihlus?” she asks. He meets her eyes when he turns back to face her. “Are you alright? You seemed tense up there, and I know this has to be… a lot to deal with.”

He smiles, but somehow, it doesn’t feel genuine.

“Don’t worry about me, Jane. Let’s focus on the work.”

If she wasn’t concerned before, she is now.

* * *

The Citadel’s night cycle has just begun when she finishes her report. John is reading a datapad--some long-winded book, doubtless.  She’s spent the day preparing; she coordinated Garrus’ leave from C-Sec, got approval for Wrex’s contract to be paid from Spectre funds, and contracted Alenko and Williams from the Alliance. It was a long, tiring effort, navigating the tides of bureaucracy. She’s thankful that Nihlus stepped up to acquire a ship. She trusts his experience to get them what they need.

She’s settling in on the extranet terminal when Nihlus pings her omni-tool.

_Got a ship and saw to a few other matters. You feel the need to do some celebrating?”_

She types back, _“Glad to hear it. What’s the name of the ship? How large is the crew?”_

_"Let’s leave that a surprise. I think you’ll approve. Alliance crew, with the exception of your immediate team,” _he responds.

She raises an eyebrow and asks, _“Why the secrecy?”_

Nihlus quickly pings back, saying, _“ Just trust me. Drinks or not?”_

She thinks about it, finding the thought of bourbon appealing.

_"Fine. Where?”_

_“Chora’s Den,”_ he says simply.

_“Isn’t it a crime scene?”_

There’s a pause before he answers, _“C-Sec closed the case. But with Fist’s demise, it’s still closed down. I can hack the door open, and we can leave the new owner with a much drier bar.”_

She grins. So, Nihlus has a mischievous side.

_"If I ever say no to bad behavior and free drinks, I’ve gone crazy. Be there in fifteen minutes.”_

Nihlus responds with, _“See? I’m getting to know you already. I’ll be there.”_

Jane looks at her brother and says, "I'll be back late. I'm gonna go get drunk with my new partner in crime." 

John raises an eyebrow. "Isn't your job to, you know, _fight_ crime?" 

She smirks. "Most of the time." 

Nihlus is already holding his omni-tool to the door when she arrives, his brow plates lowered in focus.

“You know I’m going to make fun of you if you can’t manage with that lock, right?” she says, chuckling darkly.

He shakes his head and says, “Hush, woman, I’ve almost got it… There.”

The door slides open, and he gestures her inside.

“So, do Spectres make a habit of breaking and entering for fun?” she says, keeping her tone to a tease.

“This Spectre does. I’m good at talking my way out of it if I get caught.”

“See, that’s where you and I differ. I don’t get caught,” she says.

“Confident, are we? I’ll believe it when I see it. You lack subtlety,” says Nihlus.

“I can be subtle. I’d just rather punch someone out,” she says, slinking behind the dim bar and surveying the situation.

C-Sec did a fine job cleaning the place up, but there’s still bits of broken glass on the floor, and the smell of alcohol stains the air. The stock underneath the bar is still intact. She grabs two glasses and scopes out the assortment of alcohol. Nihlus retrieves a silver bottle.

“Cipritine brandy. My night just improved,” Nihlus says, taking a glass from her.

“Oh, score!” she cheers, pouring herself a full glass of what she found. “Irish bourbon. I didn’t know you could even get this stuff out here.”

“Here’s to indulging bad behavior and expensive taste.”

“Hell, I’ll drink to that,” she says, swirling the glass before she sips it.

“Hm, I like a woman that can take her liquor straight,” he chuckles.

“Hey, no flirting while you’re sober.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, now,” he says, a bright gleam in his eyes.

“Ready to find out if I can outdrink you?” Jane asks.

She takes a seat on the bartop, swishing her feet lightly through the air as they hang free.

“Certainly not,” he huffs. “You’re competitive. You’d poison yourself  just  for the sake of winning.”

She hates to admit it, but he’s right. “Insightful, are you?”

Nihlus shrugs. “Comes with the job. You start picking up on things, start figuring people out. Everything, everyone… All composed of puzzle pieces.”

She nods and takes a heavy gulp of her bourbon, enjoying the woodsy flavor as it goes down.

“I can play the 'figure people out' game. You’re struggling with this Saren thing, and you’re trying to keep a brave face.”

He goes quiet and stares into his glass. “So I am. My feelings don’t change what has to be done. He’s not a friend now, he’s a mission target.”

Her attitude softens, and she says, “You know, we’re partners now. You can… talk about these things in confidence.”

Nihlus smiles bitterly, his green eyes meeting hers.

“Let me get a few drinks in… and I  just might unload on you. For now, let’s enjoy the quiet.”

“I thought you didn’t like the quiet.”

“Sometimes… there’s a need for it,” Nihlus sighs.


	22. The Maybe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane and Nihlus enjoy their time drinking, and get more personal than either of them bargained for.

Jane walks along the bartop, holding her arms outward at her sides to balance herself against the dizziness. The bar’s surface is cool against her bare feet. She’s not entirely sure when her shoes, jacket, and overshirt came off--was it two drinks ago, or longer?--but she’s striding along the bar in comfort and drunken bliss. She's been giggling and moving paces around Nihlus, teasing him with goofy faces and drunken remarks. Her knees are about level with his face at this vantage, so he looks up at her, the dim neon light making his green eyes sparkle. 

“You’re going to fall, peach,” he says, as matter-of-factly as his level of inebriation allows. The sentence comes out half-slurred, amusement lurking at the top of his voice. 

“I’m a graceful drunk,” she says, grinning at him. “And I like it up here.” 

He sloppily knocks back another shot and asks, “Pretending you’re tall?” 

She stops mid-step and raises an eyebrow at him. At least, she thinks she raises an eyebrow. Her face has been mostly numb for quite some time now. “What are you trying to say?”

He laughs, a high, cocky little sound from his throat. “I’m saying you’re barely taller than a volus! It’s _adorable.”_

She kicks him in the arm, glaring down at him. “You take that back!” 

“Never. You’re _comically_ small.” his jaw lolling as he speaks, so his words come out long and slow. 

“You’re mean!” Jane squeaks. “A mean, mean bastard drunk, making fun of me like this!”

As she says it, she’s desperately trying not to burst into laughter. She fails, putting a hand over her mouth as she does. 

“See? Even you think it’s funny!” 

She sits down on the bar, her legs hanging off to his left side as she puts on a pout. 

“No, you’re a big jerk!” Jane insists. 

He shakes his head, smiling. “How can you contain so much rage in this miniature body?” 

She smirks, defeated. “Determination, all right? Now stop teasing me. I’m--” she hiccups, and continues, “I’m waaay too drunk to have any good comebacks.” 

He hums out, “Hmmm, lots of fun drunkenness going around. A few more in me and I could teach you some drinking songs that the Hierarchy strongly disapproves of. I dunno how well they’d translate...” 

Her brows knit together as she asks, “You have shit like that? Man, I thought turians were all about military pride.” 

Nihlus lets out an incredulous scoff. “ _Please._ Pff, the Hierarchy. My superiors hated me and the feeling was mutual. _Fuck_ the Hierarchy. I haven’t had real ties to it for a loooong time.” 

Jane picks up her bottle of bourbon and raises it. “You know what, fuck the Alliance, too. Buncha fuckin' micromanaging hardasses. Nothin’ but rules, rules, rules.” 

Nihlus raises his own bottle and says, “A toast _against_ the damn military.” 

She giggles and sips the bourbon, barely noticing the dribbles of it staining her tank top. 

Nihlus watches her hands intently as she puts up a finger to say something, but she loses the thought, so the hand hangs slack in the air. 

“I forgot,” she says, laughing some more. “Was gonna say something but it’s just… mm, gone. Damn.” 

“Can I see your hands?” he asks, tone flat. 

She looks at them. “Why, is something wrong with ‘em?” 

He smiles and says, “No, I just want to see.” 

So, Jane puts her hands in his, taking a sharp breath at the sudden contact. She hadn’t realized he’d taken his gloves off. 

He takes one of her hands, running the pad of his finger over her palm. 

“So tiny,” Nihlus hums. “So soft. I don’t know how you manage to do anything with all these extra fingers. And yours are... _small.”_

“You make a 'small' joke one more time and I’m going to punch you in the mouth,” she says. 

He laughs but continues to run his fingers across hers. His skin is softer than she expected, smooth to the touch, but tougher than human flesh. He’s careful of his talons, blunted but still an instinctively alarming sight. 

“I don’t mean to mock, I’m just continuously surprised. The power in these little hands… I find it… I don’t have the word.” 

Jane smiles, face flushing. 

“I don’t… make a habit of letting people touch me. Especially not things like… this,” she says softly.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” he asks. 

Words don’t come, so she just shakes her head and squeezes his hand. 

Through the combination of flattering light and eyes clouded by bourbon, she gazes at him, a rush of warmth coursing through her as she takes in the sight of him. He’s not human, but she’s finding fewer and fewer reasons to care about that, remarking to herself that he’s got his own flavor of exotic attractiveness, ruddy plates and verdant eyes stark against white ink, beautiful in his own right. It’s definitely the booze, has to be. She doesn’t know him well enough to have more than curiosity and aesthetic appreciation.... right? 

“I--Nihlus?” 

“Hm?” he asks, meeting her eyes. 

“I feel safe with you,” she blurts. “And I have to admit… that scares me a little.” 

He gives her a soft smile. “I think I know what you mean.” 

The way he’s looking at her… It’s too much, too quick. The thought of this conversation going further or turning into actions makes her squirm. She pulls back, sliding onto the barstool next to him, reaching to change the subject. He doesn’t seem to mind, letting her hands slip from his with grace and ease. 

“So… We’re both drunk, probably going to remember about--” she hiccups again, and goes on, “--half of tonight… Lay it on me,” she says, folding her arms on top of the bar. 

“What do you mean?” he asks, toying with the silver bottle in front of him. 

“Your thing with Saren. Best friend, lover, what? I’ll be your shoulder or whatever.” 

He chuckles, a bitter note to the sound, and says, “Saren... Right. Nothing like that topic to sober me up. Well, you’re far off with ‘lover.’ He is… _was,_ like an older brother to me… once. 

Nihlus’ words are still slurred as he speaks slowly and deliberately to collect his thoughts, but there’s a cold clarity in his tone. 

“As you already know, he mentored me. Most of what I know, I learned from him. I was young when I met him. I was struggling in the military, over a dozen disciplinary actions and negative remarks to my name already. They would have thrown me out, really, but I was good in a fight--but reckless, didn’t care about the odds, and far too independent. I didn’t grow up in turian space like my comrades, so I... didn’t belong. I made a habit of following my instincts, acting above my rank… I had my share of accomplishments, not that they were appreciated. My commanding officers couldn’t offload me fast enough. My third posting, Saren was there on Spectre business, accompanying us,” he laughs, and continues, “And the first thing I did was insult him. Told him I wasn’t impressed by his status, and I informed where to shove it. And… oh, he laughed. I don’t think he was used to young soldiers saying shit like that to him. Next thing I know, I’m his new project. When he offered to pull me from the military, hell, there was no getting rid of me. He earned my loyalty, my trust, over time. Time passed... Next thing I know, I’m going through rigorous training and standing in front of the Council as a Spectre inductee. I loved it--hell, I still do, and Saren became…” he scoffs and takes a long pause. “He was practically a god to me back then. I took everything he gave me, absorbed everything he said… and looking back… I chose to blind myself to his harsh side. We fought, as I grew older, but we were usually able to put it aside. But recently… well, we parted on sour terms. Things were said on both sides that can’t be taken back.” 

He sighs deeply, having said his piece, and stares into his empty glass. 

“I had no idea,” she breathes. “What drove you apart?” 

He huffs and says, “Your species, actually. And well, you. The concept of you, really. A year or so ago, your people started pushing again for a human Spectre. I was one of few that spoke in strong favor of the idea. Saren couldn’t let it go, and I wasn’t going to budge. I think I chose two candidates just to piss him off.” 

She smiles a bit and teases, “You bastard.” 

He doesn’t grin, just continues staring into his glass before he says, “It was the right choice. You and your brother are forces to be reckoned with. I just... keep wondering if it’s my fault somehow. All of… this. Saren, Eden Prime. Just keep… asking myself... if I could have done things differently, pulled him back from the edge. I trusted him, and he shot me. A shot that could have been to the back of the head…” He meets her eyes. “If it weren’t for an angry little human. I suppose you showed him.” 

She softens at his gratitude, the sincerity in his eyes, and scoots toward him a bit. The interwoven warmth and pain radiate off of him like a physical force, drawing her in where she’d normally back away. He holds her eyes hostage in his, close enough that she can hear the steady sound of his breath. Nihlus leans in, and she lets herself fall into it. _Fuck it._ Sentiment, relatability, the freedom he’d handed her, the eerie sense of security she feels with him, his steady motion toward her… It manifests into a thrumming need in her chest, begging her to indulge her curiosity and leap. So she meets him halfway, pressing her lips against his mouth in a tentative kiss. The sensation is foreign, his flesh unyielding where a human’s would give under the soft pressure. He pulls back, and it’s a moment of death-still silence as his eyes roam across her face. Jane’s mind is formulating a freaked-out apology when he pulls her to her feet. The turian wraps his hand around the back of her neck and seals the gap between them once more. Nihlus tastes of alcohol and a faint metallic undertone, as he kisses her in a way that feels alien and natural all at once. Her mouth gracing against his, a heated flush rises in her cheeks, blood rushing, nervous system near-overloading in response. She doesn't know how long it goes on, the two of them moving with each other in a delicate dance. She’s the one to back away this time, clutching onto his forearms to steady herself. 

She stammers, “I—no. I’m—well,” she sighs, and tries again, “I’m not… See, I—I liked that. But I’m not… I’m not ready for this. I’m thinking, and it’s not… I don’t go this fast. I’m not built that way.” 

He smiles, shushes her as he brushes his fingers through her bangs in a tender and soothing motion that has her ready to either run away or melt in his grasp. 

“Take your time, collect your thoughts, peach.” 

She takes a deep breath and says, “I think I might want this. But I want to be sure. I’m not yet, and the timing is… That, and I barely know you. Hell, you barely know me. And that doesn’t… I’m uncomfortable with making this… _a thing_ before that changes. For me, going too fast… it’s a death sentence for, uh, relationships. I’m drunk, I’m emotional…” 

Nihlus hums and says, “Recall that I am also drunk and emotional. I admit the idea of leaping into something with someone so, well, _different,_ gives me a little pause. I’d hate to sour our partnership on a potential failed interspecies fling.” 

She lets out a shaky sigh and pulls herself tight against him, wrapping her arms around his waist. She presses her face against his form and says, “I guess what I’m saying is, _maybe._ It’s been a long time since I’ve been with someone in any sense, and I always go slow. I’m not prepared for more than ‘maybe.’” 

He smiles and says, “I can work with that. I’m not going to ask anything of you that you’re not ready to offer. Emotionally or otherwise. So… friends with a ‘maybe?’”

She giggles at that and reaffirms, “Friends with a ‘maybe.’” 

He lets her go with a comforting caress of her cheek, and pats the barstool. 

"Where did you learn to kiss like that?" she murmurs. "I mean, I assumed turians didn't--"

"Asari have lips, too. Keep up, now. So, moving on. I believe you were about to share some of your baggage, since I’ve laid some of mine on the table. It’s your turn, Jane.” 

Jane’s knee-jerk instinct is _piss off,_ but she resists it. He’s just proven further that her trust in him isn’t misplaced, and she’s kind of eager to share her own history, having understood his in a personal sense. So, she tells him about her parents, the Reds, and her enlistment. She leaves Aiden, Paloma, and a dozen or so closely-guarded details out, but she starts lowering walls. Against every dark instinct and distorted inner call to flee, she lets him in, and it feels good, because he makes no move to judge her. 

_Friends with a “maybe.”_ It makes her smile. 


	23. The Distance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John grills Jane for the details when he sees Nihlus drop her off late in the night, and the next morning, the real adventure begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a bit of a hiatus, I'm back! Exams are hell. Hopefully getting back to writing more frequent content.

John can’t sleep. His head buzzes with the afterimages of the day, thoughts and emotions blurring together. The path ahead is so uncertain, and the road behind is dark with death and tragedy. The hotel room door opens, the light from the hallway streaming in and painting the carpet in bright streaks. He keeps the pillow half over his head, pretending to be asleep. Sharing a hotel room is an old comfort, albeit an odd one--in another life, as twins they probably wouldn’t be able to stand the proximity. Sharing a womb was enough togetherness for a lifetime, right? But it’s familiar, the old lifestyle of necessity all painted up in softer beds and the freedom to choose. He didn’t have to ask, she’d booked one room with two queen beds on habit. 

If they didn’t have the kind of closeness that comes from a life where codependence meant survival, the world might look vastly different for the two of them. He wonders if it’d have been better, wonders if he’d be a better man for it, but he knows fate isn’t something chosen. There’s an old saying of Jane’s… “Life ain’t handing out lemons, you have to find your own.” Well, it’s been a sour fucking lemon, but damned if there aren’t sweet moments. Spying on Jane as she rolls in half-drunk during the wee hours of the night is certainly fun. She always manages to become the source of some juicy gossip or other. 

He hears hushed talking and little drunken giggles from Jane. Craning his head, he catches sight of his sister and Nihlus standing with scant space between them, whispering in a companionable tone. The turian leans down and kisses her forehead, a tender gesture that takes John by surprise. Even more jarring is the subtle way Jane leans into it, steady, fearless. 

Since enlistment, Jane’s characterized her life by the walls she’s erected around herself, the arm’s-length grasp on her relationships. She holds everything at a distance. Saying he’s much different these days would be a lie. Akuze fucked him up, he knows. It ruined his ability to trust in good things being safe. He finds himself putting up walls of his own, waiting for death’s shadow to darken his door. Being unattached is easier, cleaner when the bullets start flying. They both know it all too well. 

Something in Jane, though… Something inside her came alive when she became a Spectre. There’s some intangible fire burning in her eyes, a lust for life in her smiles, pride in her posture. She’s the wild sixteen-year-old kid laughing in the fight ring again, grinning through the pain and leaping back for more, open and unafraid. He’s glad to see it, but not surprised. What does confuse him is the vulnerability she’s been showing, the subtle glances to Nihlus for approval, for absolution, things that meant she was leaning into a measure of trust. She never needed those things before, rarely trusted anyone enough. Has she changed, grown? Has he fallen out of tune with her and missed it? 

Jane grins at Nihlus and closes the door behind her. There’s the sound of a jacket hitting the floor, likely shrugged off her shoulders. Not the red jacket--she’d never be so careless with it, and he hasn’t seen her wear it in years. It's a relic of a life long gone. 

John shifts his weight off of his bad shoulder, wincing as he draws the pillow back over his head. 

“I know you’re not asleep, dumbass,” Jane says, running a hand through her mussed-up hair. “Come on, lay it on me. Get it over with.” 

He sits up, letting a coy grin show. “So. You fuck turians now?” 

Her face crinkles as she flops down on her own bed, struggling out of her boots. “Sure, hold nothing back,” Jane scoffs. “That’s really the first place your brain goes?” 

“I mean, I’m not judging,” he says. 

She snorts and says, “Yeah, you are. And _no,_ that’s not what happened. Unlike you, I keep it in my pants until I get to know someone.” 

John lets out a single note of a laugh, and shoots back, “Oh, you’re slut-shaming me. Now who’s judging?” 

“Face it, you’re a whore,” she chuckles. 

His face reddens, part offense, and part amusement. “I am not!” he stammers, I just--I like sex. Bite me!” 

“Gross, John!” she says, the words coming out as a hiss through teeth. 

“What? It’s healthy. Natural, even.” 

_“Pssht,_ zip it. _Gah,_ I really don’t need that image in my head.” Jane puts a pillow in her lap, burying her face in it as a dramatic gesture. 

“Hey, you’re no peach, yourself,” says John. 

She makes this odd, sidelong smile at that, like she knows something he doesn’t. 

“Back to the point!” he says. “I mean, it’s a little… unusual, but y’know, nonhumans are people like us, just, erm… packaged differently. Species preferences notwithstanding… Nihlus?” 

She shrugs, pours herself a glass of water from the pitcher on the nightstand. The dim light of the Citadel’s brief night cycle strikes against her eyes, black liner smeared.

“What about him?” she says, all dry and nonchalant. 

“Well, less than a week ago, you were ready to tear his head clean off. Then you were all buddy-buddy, and now you’re involved?” 

“Yeah, it’s fast,” she sighs, adds, “Which is why we agreed to be friends for now.” 

John raises an eyebrow. “Oh, for now? What happens after ‘for now?’” 

She smiles. It’s a school-girl grin, cheeks flushed, though that may be from the drinking. 

“We’ll figure that out when we get there. If we get there. The timing is… messy. People will talk, and the mission takes priority… But he’s… He’s sweet. We have more in common than I expected.” 

John's mouth draws into a wolfish grin as he says, “Daww, look. Janey has a heart! I’ll bake a cake.” 

She throws the pillow from her lap. It smacks him square in the face and he lets out a soft _oof._

“Okay, okay, seriously. What happened?” he says, pressing for a straight answer. 

“We got really drunk, talked. Then we kissed, talked some more.” 

Well, at least it’s on-brand for her. Fast by her standards, but retains that air of hesitation, of waiting for certainty. 

“Boring! You live like this?” he says. 

She gives him a stink-eye that would make anyone else flinch. 

“Jokes aside,” John says, “You think you have something with him?” 

“I think I might.” 

“Yeah,” he breathes, thinking of Kaidan staying with him through half the night at the hospital. He’s still trying to burn the aftermath of their shared… _incident…_ out of his head, and hell, he’s almost getting in over his head. “I know the feeling.” 

They share a glance in silence for a moment before she shrugs off her overshirt and crawls under the covers. She doesn't bother to change out of her jeans, ever-sloppy as she is out of uniform. 

She stares at the ceiling, the passage of time intangible. 

“Things are changing, aren’t they?” she says after a while. 

“Seems like it,” he murmurs. “I hope we never do.” 

She sighs, “Always been you and me. Always will be.” 

“Hey, Jane, I--” 

“Nope, that’s all the sentiment I can stomach for today. Yuck.” 

He chuckles and lies back down. She’s right. Somehow, it feels like the morning will bring a new life with it. John isn’t sure whether to be excited or terrified. Standing on the precipice of change is like staring into the abyss, wondering if it’s staring back. 

* * *

The pain in his shoulder wakes him before the alarm gets the chance. He flexes it, groaning through the pain. The docs sent him off with some meds—the mild stuff that takes the edge off but doesn’t mess with his head. A non-combatant role is going to get dull fast, but with the biting ache under his flesh, he’s not sure he’d even be able to pull together enough focus to muster a decent barrier or warp shot. Lingering pain is probably the worst kind, the way it gnaws at him to wear his resolve down. 

Jane is gone already. Similar to military habits, Spectre training starts early in the morning so it doesn’t delay the day’s itinerary. She left a note telling him to take care of checking out of the hotel and bring his things to docking bay E-38. He swears that’s the Normandy docking bay, but he must be mistaken. They need a ship, sure, but he can’t imagine the Alliance would hand an experimental investment like that over to Citadel authority so soon. Though, Jane’s note does say something about Anderson being dodgy about what ship and crew the Alliance is loaning her. 

_“He’s not the cryptic type, something’s up.”_ It concludes, _“Meeting him at 0900, don’t be late.”_

Jane’s standing stiff in uniform when he gets there, arms folded in on herself as she talks to the captain. The tension is palpable as soon as he steps off the elevator. Nihlus stands a few paces away, leaning on some cargo crates, presumably just out of earshot from Jane and Anderson. The turian’s stance states half-committal ties to formality; his posture relaxed but standing straight enough to pass for situational respect. John’s instinct is to approach his sister and the captain, but he shifts his trajectory when Nihlus nods him over to him. His breath hitches in his throat when he sees the Normandy nestled in the dock, shiny new hull beaming for all to see. 

“Spectre,” he says in an awkward tone, unsure how to address him. 

John gets a huffed laugh in return, and the Spectre says, “‘Nihlus’ will do, Commander.” 

“Well, uh, then let’s make it ‘John.’ Level ground and all,” he says. 

“Very well, John,” Nihlus gestures to Jane and the captain. “I thought it best that you give her and Anderson a moment of privacy. This is… A difficult conversation, I’d imagine. It was a challenge getting rid of Udina, mind you.” 

John’s eyebrows knit together, and he studies the turian’s face for answers. “Difficult how?” 

“I get the distinct impression she and the captain’s relationship is a touch more than professional. Nothing uncouth, of course. More…” 

“Parental,” John fills in for him. He adds a clumsy, “Sir.” 

Nihlus shakes his head, in amusement, John guesses. Turians are hard to read. 

“So I was correct,” the Spectre says. “For the record, I’m not military and I’m not the sort to hang on formalities. Drop the ‘sir,’ unless it helps you sleep at night.” 

John scratches the back of his head, nodding. He doesn’t know what to make of this guy, definitely isn’t seeing how he and Jane are tentatively involved. He decides to strictly avoid bringing that up, _eek._

“Right. I guess,” John shrugs at the sad reminder of one of many holes in their lives. He continues, “Our uh, our dad died. I don’t know Anderson well, but he personally requested her for his crew on the Tokyo after Elysium. She doesn’t make a habit of talking about personal things, but she always had a soft spot for him.” 

“I see. I sympathize with the dynamic,” says Nihlus, gaze growing distant. 

“Anyway, what does that have to do with this being a hard conversation?” John asks.

“As you know, Anderson has a history with our dear friend Saren. Jane seems a bit betrayed at his hesitation to talk about it until now.” 

“Knowing Jane…” John says, “She probably feels like he sprung it on her.” 

Nihlus makes a soft ‘hm’ and shifts his glance to avoid staring at the two. John follows suit. 

John prods for clarity, saying, “Something tells me we’re in the Normandy dock for a reason.” 

“You’d be right.” 

John presses his lips tight together. Jane was right, Nihlus has a penchant for skirting the point. The particular brand of vagueness reminds him of an old CO of his, Captain Wescott. He wasn’t a fan of it then either, but he learned to tolerate the behavior from superiors. Nihlus seems to be expecting him to press further, having dealt with Jane. John operates differently, so the Spectre can keep on expecting. Quiet tends to produce answers on its own, as the instinct to fill the conversational void arises. It appears Nihlus has no such urge, leaving the two of them sitting in uncomfortable silence--at least, John thinks it’s uncomfortable. He’s not sure Nihlus even registers it, cool as he is. 

He sees Jane's head hang low, but she shakes Anderson’s hand a moment later. 

She approaches him and Nihlus as the captain takes his leave, a wry pucker to her mouth. It isn’t in her nature to share her feelings in the moment, and she doesn’t. He watches her features shift into the brave face he’s so used to seeing. 

“Normandy is ours now,” she says, a false smile coming to her lips. “The ship and its entire crew. Anderson has stepped down as its captain, full privileges to me as acting captain, given my new position. I’m not sure it was entirely his choice, but he’s handling it with grace.” 

John has a hundred questions, so he asks the most pressing one, “Am I approved to be on that crew?” 

She nods. “Your name was on the duty roster for the shakedown run, and Hackett approved the motion to keep you there until further notice. Same for Alenko, Williams, Joker, so forth. You still have to speak with Dr. Chakwas to assess how extensive your duties will be until that wound heals.” 

He stifles a grin, keeping with the tone of the moment. He'd have given just about anything to see this mission through. Saren is playing a dangerous game. 

He can get away with one more question, he supposes. “So are you ‘Captain Shepard’ for now?” 

She scoffs, the half-smile on her face a bit more genuine at the remark. “Officially, it’s ‘Spectre Shepard.’ Citadel authority warrants a unique title, so Nihlus tells me.” 

Nihlus nods in approval. “Spectre rank supersedes military status. You also gain a good deal more authority in the day-to-day protocol, though most of the crew have to retain a level of responsibility to their position within the Alliance. As for the freelancers, your word is law.” 

“Freelancers?” John asks. 

“Vakarian, Wrex, and Tali,” Jane explains. “They all have a stake in this mission, and I’ll take all the talent I can get.” 

“So, when do we set off?” 

“The crew is making preparations now,” Jane says, carding her fingers through her bangs. “I suggest getting yourself settled in.” 

“I’m real proud, Janey-bug,” he whispers to her as he passes for the airlock. 

“I’m just getting started, Johnny boy,” she says with a cocky smile. 

Spectre status isn’t doing her ego any favors, he remarks to himself. This is going to be a long ride, he’s certain of it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep worrying that I'm writing John as too much of an observer personality, like a lens to tell others' stories through, but after some introspection into his character, I'm realizing that's just how his mind operates. He's very externally-oriented, attentive to detail and attuned with his environment/relationships. He's introverted, but a lot of his thinking power and emotion is directed outward. Oh, Johnny boy, the toughest character to get to know and he surprises me every time I get in his head. I really can't wait to get him in some situations where his self-oriented thought patterns can properly shine. He's a tough one to crack sometimes and admittedly challenges me. I do love him for it, even if he makes me crazy. Writer-character relationships, oof. 
> 
> Also, here's to dysfunctional sibling antics! Drop a comment if you have thoughts!


	24. The Speech

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The real journey begins, with Jane squirming at the sudden weight of command.

All eyes are on Jane as she strides toward the cockpit. She takes a shallow breath, squares her shoulders, and puts one foot in front of the other in firm composure. She tries to walk like the leader everyone expects her to be, but it doesn’t click into place. She’s too stiff, her pace too deliberate. A voice in the back of her head calls out, _imposter! Usurper! Thief!_

Nihlus is already standing at Joker’s right side, just as it was at the start of all this. His form exhibits the confident posture his years of leadership and accomplishment have earned him. She’s making a passable effort to show the same cool demeanor, but it’s all farce. She’s stood in Alliance cockpits a thousand times, overseeing routine takeoffs in a commanding officer’s stead, but this is the first time she stands here as the reigning authority. This ship won’t move until she gives the word. She tries to convince herself she belongs here… But leadership was always something she seized hold of in the heat of battle. She grasped power when people needed direction, when soldiers looked to her for orders on the ground amid the sound of gunfire thick in their ears. People define her by her influence in the Skyllian Blitz; she became the spark that ignited the flame of a fighting spirit. True power has only come to her on ground soaked with blood. Her choices outside of combat had a chain of command attached, always meant to answer to a higher-up. 

She’s had a lifelong lust for control, a quality that assured she’d be ready for this, but here, now, she’s uncertain how to hold the reins when the power is freely given, when it’s placed in her hands rather than taken in the thick of a fight. She says “jump,” these people say “how high?” It shakes her to her very core. 

Joker remarks on Captain Anderson being taken down by backroom politics, and the queasy feeling in her stomach rises. 

The pilot’s _“Watch your back, Commander,”_ resonates in her ears as a sour ringing note. 

This crew, this ship… Jane _stole_ this from Anderson. 

Jane wouldn’t bat an eye at snatching this away from anyone else. Her time in the Reds taught her that there were winners and losers, those strong enough to climb over others to get ahead and those crushed underneath their heels. It’s an easy concept, but _dammit,_ Anderson has been good to her, and she’s stuck by him in hard-earned loyalty for years. 

She inhales sharply. Her fingers tremble. 

Emotional hang-ups won’t help anyone here. She has to be the leader this mission requires. It’s not a choice, only an imperative. 

“It’s Spectre now, Joker,” she says, unyielding. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Joker says, hesitant rhythm to his voice. 

The admonishment earns her an approving nod from Nihlus. The gesture bolsters her, just a tiny bit. 

“I had no part in screwing the Captain out of this ship. I’m here thanks to him, in no small part,” Jane says. “I intend to honor that.” 

_Good, that was good,_ she thinks. _Shows respect, but it wasn’t overly formal._ Shit, she’s overthinking her words. 

_Just breathe. You were made for this, don’t fuck it up over semantics._

“Nobody’s blaming you,” Joker says, and takes the chance to assure her that she has the crew’s support. It should be comforting, but it speaks to the responsibility thrust into her hands. The pilot prompts her for a speech. The knot in her stomach tightens. The room is too cold for comfort. 

_Head in the game, Jane. Don’t spend your life wishing for something and lose your nerve when you get there._

She leans in toward the intercom, Nihlus’ eyes on her as she opens her mouth to speak. She gazes back, searching for judgment and finding none. 

“Listen up, Normandy, this is your commander speaking. We have one goal here: stop Saren before he finds the Conduit.” 

Her voice strengthens as she says it, steady, familiar, focused rage heating up in her throat as she remembers why she’s here. 

She pours her heart into it as she continues, “Eden Prime was a bitter reminder of how fragile our standing is, a reminder that our place in this galaxy has to be fought for. Saren wounded us--he kicked us down, and it’s time to strike back. Saren won’t hesitate and we can’t either. When they write the history books, they’ll remember the attack on Eden Prime as the moment humanity learned we cannot stand alone. The Citadel races say humans are reckless, ambitious, emotional... They often say those things are weaknesses. But _I_ believe those are some of the qualities that make us strong.”

She takes a deep breath. The air feels like tattoo needles against her skin, the room electric around her. 

“You all know nothing worth having comes free,” she goes on, words growing ever-impassioned, “We’re the rookies in this community. We have to _earn_ our place, and we can’t accomplish that by setting ourselves apart from the other races. This very ship is a testament to what can be accomplished through cooperation and unity, through embracing our differences and moving forward as allies. Hundreds of years ago, humanity fought one another over skin color, gender, nationality, religion. People died believing those conflicts mattered. Are we going to repeat that history, or are we going to learn our lessons and remember what it is we’re all fighting for? Because this is about survival as we know it. Yes, Saren attacked a human colony, but he’s proven himself a threat to the entire galaxy, a galaxy I’m sworn to serve as a Spectre. It’s time for humanity to do our part, time to show them what we’re really made of. Saren can run, but he can’t hide. Wherever he goes looking for the Conduit, we’ll be right on his heels until we’ve hunted him down! I swear to you all, I will not rest until we’ve brought him to justice.” 

She lets out a long breath, rocking her neck between her shoulders, feeling oddly liberated. 

Nihlus smiles and says, “Quite the speech.” 

“Captain would be proud,” Joker chips in. 

“What can I say? I’m a progressive patriot,” she sighs. “Joker, set a course for the Artemis Tau cluster. Time’s wasting, get this bird on the move.” 

“Aye aye, ma’am.” 

She strolls through the CIC, Nihlus close behind, leaning in to speak. 

“For a moment I expected you to break into song--some military anthem or other,” he says, eyes sparkling. 

She grins, shakes her head. “Aw, shut up. I had to put some fire in these people somehow.” 

“Mm, well, I’d imagine you accomplished that. I’m feeling the spirit already, so we set out--victory or death!” 

“You’re terrible,” Jane says, still smiling as she brushes a strand of hair from her face. 

“So I’m told,” the turian says. 

She takes her place at the command station, letting the feeling of it soak deep into her bones. The galaxy map shines in front of her, interface twinkling with virtual stars, the image of the milky way twirling slowly. The map’s steady spin reminds her that the galaxy never stops, and she can’t either. 

“Artemis Tau then. What is our lead exactly?” Nihlus asks, his voice devoid of emotion now that the professional responsibility has kicked into place. 

“Benezia has a daughter,” says Jane. “Liara T’Soni, a scientist. Anderson shared some intel that she’s in the Artemis Tau cluster, studying Prothean ruins. If anyone would know something about Benezia’s involvement with Saren, it’d be her daughter. I’m hoping she’ll be a valuable piece in the puzzle.” 

Nihlus nods, mandibles pulled tight to his face, brow plates lowered as he contemplates the information. 

Finally, he asks, “Have you considered the possibility that she might share their goals? This all started with a Prothean beacon. If she’s examining ruins, she might be searching for another beacon or a clue to the Conduit’s location.” 

Jane folds her hands together against her stomach and says, “The thought crossed my mind. If that’s the case, she’s still valuable--it presents the opportunity to interrogate one of Saren’s agents.” 

“I agree, it’s beneficial either way. Any ideas on where to start searching?” 

“I plan to do a little research, see if I can find records of these ruins,” Jane says. 

“Tedious work. I’ll assist,” Nihlus offers. 

“I’d appreciate it. I don’t suppose we’d consider reaching out to some… outside sources?” she asks.

Jane is hesitant with the implication. Nihlus mentioned the value of information brokers, the Shadow Broker in particular, but the shady side of it spooks her more than a little. She definitely doesn’t want to say it outright in front of an Alliance crew. 

He picks up her meaning, thankfully. 

“A worthy consideration,” he says. “As you know, these individuals’ favors don’t come cheap, but I’ll reach out. Whether or not said parties know anything ought to be very telling of our target’s trustworthiness--the less they know, the less likely it is she’s involved.” 

“Worth a try, then. Get on it and keep me posted.” 

Nihlus nods, a playful gleam in his eye before he goes. She’s just given him an order for the first time, her voice level and natural. She might find her footing faster than she thought. 

She stands at the command post for a while, for posterity’s sake, gazing into the galaxy map, listing her new duties in her head. She’s still not certain the weight of it fits atop her shoulders, but there’s no room for doubt. 

The stalwart salutes she receives from Normandy’s servicemen when she sets off to check in with her team, that’ll take some getting used to. She focuses on the distant thrumming of the ship’s drive core, grasping at anything that will take the tension out of her lungs. The sight of John turning to meet her with bright eyes and a brief beaming smile is more than enough to calm her nerves. He flexes his shoulder idly, an inventory datapad in his hands. 

“Stock looks good,” her brother says unceremoniously. “We’re armed to the teeth, hell, we have enough firepower to level a small army. If we’re intent on fighting geth, I have a feeling it’ll see a lot of use. As for rations, we should have a solid two weeks at least before we need to resupply.” 

She nods, a soft sigh escaping her lips, and says, “And the crew?” 

“In high spirits, especially after that speech.” He adds with a dark chuckle, “We’re off, for king and country!” 

Jane huffs and says, “Oh, you too? Was it too much and nobody has the nerve to tell me?” 

His face grows serious as he says, “It was fine. A touch over the top maybe, but that’s exactly what this mission needs. We’re facing high stakes. A little fervor can’t hurt. Don’t start second-guessing yourself.”

“I’m not,” she defends. “I worked hard to get here.” 

“Not to tread into insubordination right away, but you should try saying that like you believe it,” John says, raising an eyebrow. 

_Damn him._

“I don’t like Anderson getting sidelined. That side of things gives me… doubts,” she admits.

John claps her shoulder--a little too hard--and says, “You’ve got this. Everyone here respects you. Anyone that doesn’t is going to have to go through me... As soon as I’m fit for a fight again, anyway.” 

Cast in the low lighting of the cargo deck, his boyish grin takes years off his face. It reminds her of a time he was all knees and elbows, skin sticky with the sweat of a hard Texas summer, his eyes filled with absolute trust as she promised she’d get them out of the slums someday. The joke is on her; he was the one to pull them out of there, even if she wasn’t always happy with the commitments it brought. Standing here today at all, she owes that in large part to him, to the greasy-haired street kid with a head full of big ideas about Alliance service. She still remembers the pamphlet in his hands, exclaiming in bold text, _Join the Alliance, see the stars with us!_

“Stopping Saren is the only thing that matters. I can freak out about the responsibility on my own time,” Jane says. 

“There she is,” he says, gesturing out at her dramatically. 

“Yeah, yeah. What did the doc say about your arm?” 

John reaches a hand up to rub the join of his shoulder and neck at the mention of it, masking a wince as he touches the muscle. 

“It’s healing well,” he says, “she gave me two weeks of physical therapy and noncombatant duty, says she’ll reassess after that. Medi-gel took care of the surface wounds, it’s just deeper tissue healing at this point. When I complained about it, I got a long speech about how a hundred years ago, this would have taken months to heal. Thank the gods for modern medicine, huh? So, I’m a glorified pencil pusher, for the time being, your right-hand man for day-to-day duties aboard the ship.” 

“You suck for getting shot, you know. It’s a waste of your talents and we both know it.” 

His shoulders sink a bit. “I know. I’ll be more careful.” 

“Good. Can’t have you _fainting_ on duty anymore,” she says, smirking. 

“You bitch!” he says, voice rising three octaves at minimum. 

She lets out a self-satisfied chuckle and says, “Carry on, Johnny boy. I’ve got _real soldiers_ to check in with.” 

“You’re so mean!” he says, face contorted in half-hearted ire. “I swear, I’ll get you for that.” 

“Promises, promises,” she says as she walks away. 

Somewhere in that conversation, she lost the heavy feeling in her gut, replaced with her brother’s assured, _“You’ve got this_ ,” on repeat in the back of her head. 


	25. The Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has nightmares about the Reapers amid the crew searching high and low for Liara T'Soni.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapter updates in one week? Hell yeah, because I love you guys. All of your kudos and comments give me life, bless you all.

Flashes of red flicker in his mind, accompanied by words shrieked in fear. The words themselves carry no meaning, unknowable, as John hears but doesn’t understand. Their voices die down as alien figures in his peripheral vision fall amid bloodshed. 

One sentence rings clear, with a voice like the grind of metal on metal, threatening,  _ “We are your salvation or your annihilation, the choice is yours.”  _

It doesn’t make sense to him, but it still sends chills coursing down his spine like ice water in his veins, his stomach churning bitterly. Tendrils of wire envelop him one by one, forcing themselves beneath his flesh. He bleeds red at first, then it’s milky white electrical fluid seeping from within. 

The voice whispers in his ear,  _ “Submit, this body is ours.”  _

He reaches for meaning to the torture and finds none, gasping for air, unable to reach his arms out to pry away the wires constricting around his throat. 

He wakes up coughing, clutching at his throat. His skin is slick with sweat, his eyes wide as he lets the sight of the crew quarters sink into his vision. This is what’s real. He can breathe. He holds control over his body, free of the paralysis gripping him tight in the shadows. 

His mouth is dry, tongue clinging to the roof of his mouth, chapped lips fused together. 

A newly familiar voice says, “Easy, Shepard. Having a nightmare?” 

Kaidan looks at him with his head cocked, eyes narrowed in concern. His bronzed skin stands out against the white tank top, tags hanging faithfully around his neck. If he’s not fully dressed yet, then it’s still early. Or late--Alliance crews sleep in shifts to ensure the ship is always guarded and maintained--what time did he go to bed, anyway? His head races with the memory of the dream and he doesn’t recall what shift he’s on. 

“I’m fine,” John breathes. He puts a little more mock confidence in it and says, “It’s nothing.” 

It’s so far from nothing. This is the second nightmare he’s had since approaching the beacon and hearing Saren speak on the geth memory core Tali presented.  _ Reapers.  _ Putting a name to the warnings has only strengthened his resolve to heed the Protheans’ warning… and his impenetrable terror of the unknown force haunting his resting hours. 

“All due respect, you’re a bad liar,” Kaidan says, crossing his arms. 

John refuses to look him in the eye as he chokes out, “A fatal flaw, I’m sure. In my dreams, I’ve been... seeing things. Like the vision from the beacon, but… more. There was more information there, I know it, but I just can’t… grasp it. Instead, it’s just been nightmares.” 

Kaidan’s lips draw into a thin line as he seems to think it over. He takes a step closer, puts a second foot down, but seems to change his mind about approaching. He leans his weight back into his current stance. John doesn’t know what to make of his hesitation to come near him. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, voice gentle but not betraying any emotion. 

_ No. Yes. No… Please, gods, yes.  _

John sounds crazy to his own ears when he speaks about it, but he’s dying to get it off his chest. There’s the lingering fear that saying it out loud makes it real somehow, gives it power. The sensation of danger dominates him, takes his voice right out of his throat. 

“I don’t know,” he murmurs. “It’s probably nothing. Don’t worry about me, LT.” 

He’ll talk it about one of these days. Just not with Kaidan. He resists the unspoken force pulling him towards the other biotic, standing strong against it. Meeting his eyes, he knows opening up to him,  _ falling _ into him would be too easy. In his experience, anything that feels this right ends very, very wrong. He’s not sitting through another disciplinary hearing, not getting another breach of protocol citation on his record, not getting another speech about conflicts of interest,  _ not this time. _

He shrugs his fatigues on and says, “I should get to the doc for PT. Talk to you later, Lieutenant.” 

Kaidan’s soft sigh sends a shiver down the back of John’s next as he walks out the door. And here he’d thought the hardest part of this mission would be the imminent danger of pursuing a rogue Spectre across the galaxy. So much for assumptions. 

_ You’re your own worst enemy, John.  _ He rubs a hand over his hairline and chides himself for having the inner monologue of an angsty teenager rather than that of a hardened soldier. 

Chakwas is gracious and patient as he bitches through his physical therapy session, putting his arm and shoulder through exercises that have him hissing curse words through his teeth. It’s getting better, but not nearly fast enough for his taste. Chakwas reminds him to be patient, for at least the fifth time. 

He swallows down a ration bar and an energy drink before leaving the medbay. His biotic metabolism is a pain in the ass when it’s not being put to good use. 

He goes through the day’s routine duties one by one, managing inventory, maintaining armaments, evaluating efficiency, and checking in with the crew. He’s gotten to know the team better with time, growing fond of Tali, Ashley, and Garrus for their respective strengths. He’s tried talking to Wrex, but approaching a seasoned killer like him always ends up awkward somehow. The one time he thought he’d stumbled on a common baseline, he’d compared humanity’s conflict with the turians to the krogan plight…  _ That _ was quite the miscalculation, and he just wound up beating himself up for his ignorance about the genophage. It was a solid reminder of how little he really knows about the galactic sociopolitical environment. Jane seems to relate better with the hardened krogan, managing to drag out stories of his many mercenary exploits. Garrus is a good guy, but John usually ends up getting preachy with him on matters of differing moral alignment. It gets uncomfortable hearing Garrus go quiet and say,  _ “I’ll think about it… Talk to you later Shepard.” _

When it comes to Kaidan, he tries to keep his distance. He finds himself drawing intimate life details out of him, listening at length about his experiences on Jump Zero and the many struggles of being an L2. John’s withheld a lot, resisting the temptation to lean on the Lieutenant as a sympathetic voice, refusing to give away too much of himself. It’s a dangerous game to play, one he knows beat by beat. He’s happy to listen, but it’s best if he keeps it a one-way street. Harmless flirting with Ashley is one thing, getting into the nitty-gritty of one’s personal history is another. So, he’s kept himself busy and stuck close to Tali in his spare time, swapping stories about her work with engineering and his with mechanics. He direly wants to crawl underneath the Mako and start tweaking the hardware for peak performance, but Jane insists on waiting until it sees some use. 

Most of his job has been stoking morale and resolving the occasional remark of disquiet, a task Jane felt he and Kaidan are well-suited for. For someone so charismatic, she’s far from a people person. 

They’ve been scouring the Artemis Tau cluster for three days, fumbling around in the dark for clues to T’Soni’s location. Jane had divulged the privileged information that they’d reached out to the Shadow Broker and come up empty-handed. They’ve turned to planetary databases and T’Soni’s own published research in search of direction, but in a frontier system like this one, valuable scraps of intel are few and far between. It’s been a process of tireless research and probing planets one by one. It’s not exactly the climactic start most of the crew was hoping for, and he’s heard several mumblings that they’re wasting time. Everyone is restless, Jane most of all, her temper growing thin as the search continues to come up short. Looking for Prothean ruins in a cluster of largely uncharted worlds sounds easier on paper than it is in practice. At this rate, he’ll be combat-ready by the time they actually track Benezia’s daughter down. Nobody dares to bring up the possibility she could be gone by the time they get a line on her location. 

He sets to work reading through what has to be the hundredth database. It’s a damned goose chase, and he has a feeling planetary scans will reveal something long before this research does. Still, he perseveres, skimming his eyes over the datapad. At worst, it’s a waste of time, but a welcome distraction from the vision and nightmares lurking in the back of his mind. 

The bitter edge of it all comes as the thought,  _ At least I’m not dreaming about Akuze.  _

This mission and its struggles have put some distance between himself and the tragedy behind him, a small liberation from silently reciting the names in his unit. It’s been years. They say it gets better, but it’s a lie to keep struggling soldiers on their feet. He’s never going to forget the names, never going to stop seeing their faces.

Ashley startles him from his thoughts, sitting down across the mess table. 

“Hey, Williams,” he says, not looking up from his datapad. 

“No luck yet, sir?” she asks. 

John shakes his head in defeat. 

“Something you needed, Ash?” he asks. 

She waves a ration bar and a bottle of water to draw his eyes to them. “Just my lunch hour.” 

“Aw, and you thought to spend it with me?” he says, teasing. “Miss me since I checked in on you this morning?”

“Actually, I missed this table and the good old taste of military food,” she says, smiling. “You’re just hogging the space.” 

He looks out at the spray of loose papers in front of him, and chuckles. 

“Right. I’ll be sure to clean up all my crap here,  _ mom.” _

As Ashley begins to respond, Jane comes rushing out of her cabin at a near-sprint, eyes wild. 

She takes no note of Ashley’s amused expression, eyes locked with his as she slams a datapad down in front of him. Her bangs hang low in front of one eye, not at all aiding her frazzled appearance. 

“Therum!” she says victoriously. “In the Knossos cluster. I found a record of some industrial ruins that are potentially Prothean. We can be there in less than two hours.” 

Before he can respond, she’s pacing off up the stairs to the CIC, fast enough that she ought to be leaving a puff of cartoon wind in her wake. 

“Finally!” Ashley breathes, showing a toothy grin. 

The elation of the moment fades as he realizes he’s going to miss the real action. The fact manages to make him resent Saren that much more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm expecting to update this fic a bit more frequently, as I'm about to have a month off from school between semesters. I have some OCs waiting in the wings for the ME2 era, so keep an eye out for them in the sequel! I'm very excited about them. In the meantime, there's a lot more canon divergence in store for this fic, and I'm absolutely elated to keep this story moving. Cuz wow, 55k words! I've long since broken my personal WIP record of 40k words.


	26. A/N: Quick Update

Greetings, dear readers! Just wanted to post a quick lil update to let you all know this fic is NOT abandoned, even though it’s been a minute. I know I hoped to get much more work done on this fic over winter break, rather than less, but life doesn’t always follow our plans. So, what have I been doing instead? Well, for starters, getting swallowed up by new inspiration from Cyberpunk 2077. Actually, so much so that I’ve experienced a bit of idea overload and haven’t been able to write at all—simply too much inspiration to contain on the written page for the moment, between this fic and my new ideas. I’m sure you’re all familiar with getting a touch fatigued from a certain fandom/WIP/muse, and that’s exactly what I’ve been feeling. Additionally, the holiday season is always an emotional time for me—a time to reflect, renew, and work on myself, to connect with my spiritual side, and revitalize my energy. However, I’ve found myself reconnecting with my Shep twins and this story this week, as well as the forthcoming OCs in this fic’s sequel. I think I simply needed a breather to explore something new, in order to come back refreshed with a new spirit and a fresh outlook on my current work, so that it can continue feeling authentic and true. After all, I’ve never been a believer in forcing oneself to work on creating when one’s mind is a bit clouded up, no, writing should come from a place of genuine passion. Thanks for sticking it out with me for the fic so far, and I can’t wait to continue this adventure with the Shep twins. *Insert obligatory comparison to the writing and procrastination methods of George R.R. Martin, and that concludes this note :P* 

I hope you’re all doing well and thriving despite life’s obstacles. 

\- Logan 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Meet me at the bar](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26727091) by [Danypooh80](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Danypooh80/pseuds/Danypooh80)




End file.
